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JANE  AUSTEN'S  WORKS 


LADY    SUSAN  —  THE    WATSONS 

WITH  A  MEMOIR 


JANE  AUSTEN'S  WORKS. 


SENSE  AND  SENSIBILITY    .   .   .  2  vols. 

PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE  ...  2  vols. 

MANSFIELD  PARK 2  vols. 

EMMA 2  vols. 

NORTHANGER  ABBEY      ....  I   vol. 

PERSUASION i  vol. 

LADY  SUSAN  —  THE  WATSONS 

WITH  A  MEMOIR    .   .   .   .  i 

LETTERS .  .  i 


THE  NOVELS   OF  JANE  AUSTEN 

LADY  SUSAN 
THE    WATSONS 


WITH     A    MEMOIR 


BY    HER    NEPHEW 


J.  E.  AUSTEN   LEIGH 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 
1898 


Copyright,  1893, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


^Entoersttg 

JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  lately  received  permission  to  print  the 
following  tale  from  the  author's  niece,  Lady 
Knatchbull,  of  Provender,  in  Kent,  to  whom  the 
autograph  copy  was  given.  I  am  not  able  to  as- 
certain when  it  was  composed.  Her  family  have 
always  believed  it  to  be  an  early  production. 
Perhaps  she  wrote  it  as  an  experiment  in  conduct- 
ing a  story  by  means  of  letters.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, her  only  attempt  of  that  kind;  for  "  Sense 
and  Sensibility  "  was  first  written  in  letters;  but 
as  she  afterwards  re-wrote  one  of  these  works  and 
never  published  the  other,  it  is  probable  that  she 
was  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  result.  The  tale 
itself  is  scarcely  one  on  which  a  literary  reputation 
could  have  been  founded:  but  though,  like  some 
plants,  it  may  be  too  slight  to  stand  alone,  it  may, 
perhaps,  be  supported  by  the  strength  of  her  more 
firmly  rooted  works.  At  any  rate,  it  cannot  di- 
minish Jane  Austen's  reputation  as  a  writer*,  for 
even  if  it  should  be  judged  unworthy  of  the  pub- 
licity now  given  to  it,  the  censure  must  fall  on 
him  who  has  put  it  forth,  not  on  her  who  kept  it 
locked  up  in  her  desk. 


LADY    SUSAN. 


LADY    SUSAN. 


Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mr.  Vernon. 

LANGFORD,  Dec. 

|Y  DEAB  BKOTHEK,—  I  can  no  longer 
refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  profiting 
by  your  kind  invitation  when  we  last 
parted  of  spending  some  weeks  with 
you  at  Churchhill,  and  therefore,  if  quite  conven- 
ient to  you  and  Mrs.  Vernon  to  receive  me  at 
present,  I  shall  hope  within  a  few  days  to  be  in- 
troduced to  a  sister  whom  I  have  so  long  desired 
to  be  acquainted  with.  My  kind  friends  here  are 
most  affectionately  urgent  with  me  to  prolong  my 
sta}^  but  their  hospitable  and  cheerful  dispositions 
lead  them  too  much  into  society  for  my  present  sit- 
uation and  state  of  mind;  and  I  impatiently  look 
forward  to  the  hour  when  I  shall  be  admitted  into 
your  delightful  retirement. 

I  long  to  be  made  known  to  your  dear  little  chil- 
dren, in  whose  hearts  I  shall  be  very  eager  to  se- 
cure an  interest.  I  shall  soon  have  need  for  all 
my  fortitude,  as  I  am  on  the  point  of  separation 


8  LADY   SUSAN. 

from  my  own  daughter.  The  long  illness  of  her 
dear  father  prevented  my  paying  her  that  atten- 
tion which  duty  and  affection  equally  dictated, 
and  I  have  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  the  gov- 
erness to  whose  care  I  consigned  her  was  unequal 
to  the  charge.  I  have  therefore  resolved  on  plac- 
ing her  at  one  of  the  best  private  schools  in  town, 
where  I  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  leaving  her 
myself  in  my  way  to  you.  I  am  determined,  you 
see,  not  to  be  denied  admittance  at  Churchhill.  It 
would  indeed  give  me  most  painful  sensations  to 
know  that  it  were  not  in  your  power  to  receive  me. 
Your  most  obliged  and  affectionate  sister, 

S.  VEBNON. 

II. 

Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

LANGFORD. 

You  were  mistaken,  my  dear  Alicia,  in  supposing 
me  fixed  at  this  place  for  the  rest  of  the  winter :  it 
grieves  me  to  say  how  greatly  you  were  mistaken, 
for  I  have  seldom  spent  three  months  more  agree- 
ably than  those  which  have  just  flown  away.  At 
present,  nothing  goes  smoothly;  the  females  of 
the  family  are  united  against  me.  You  foretold 
how  it  would  be  when  I  first  came  to  Langford, 
and  Mainwaring  is  so  uncommonly  pleasing  that  I 
was  not  without  apprehensions  for  myself.  I  re- 
member saying  to  myself,  as  I  drove  to  the  house, 
' '  I  like  this  man,  pray  Heaven  no  harm  come  of 
it! "  But  I  was  determined  to  be  discreet,  to  bear 
in  mind  my  being  only  four  months  a  widow,  and 


LADY  SUSAN.  9 

to  be  as  quiet  as  possible :  and  I  have  been  so,  my 
dear  creature;  I  have  admitted  no  one's  attentions 
but  Mainwaring's.  T  have  avoided  all  general  flir- 
tation whatever ;  I  have  distinguished  no  creature 
besides,  of  all  the  numbers  resorting  hither,  ex- 
cept Sir  James  Martin,  on  whom  I  bestowed  a 
little  notice,  in  order  to  detach  him  from  Miss 
Mainwaring;  but  if  the  world  could  know  my 
motive  there  they  would  honor  me.  I  have  been 
called  an  unkind  mother,  but  it  was  the  sacred  im- 
pulse of  maternal  affection,  it  was  the  advantage 
of  my  daughter  that  led  me  on;  and  if  that  daugh- 
ter were  not  the  greatest  simpleton  on  earth,  I 
might  have  been  rewarded  for  my  exertions  as  I 
ought. 

Sir  James  did  make  proposals  to  me  for  Fred- 
erica;  but  Frederica,  who  was  born  to  be  the  tor- 
ment of  my  life,  chose  to  set  herself  so  violently 
against  the  match  that  I  thought  it  better  to  lay 
aside  the  scheme  for  the  present.  I  have  more 
than  once  repented  that  I  did  not  marry  him  my- 
self; and  were  he  but  one  degree  less  contempti- 
bly weak,  I  certainly  should:  but  I  must  own 
myself  rather  romantic  in  that  respect,  and  that 
riches  only  will  not  satisfy  me.  The  event  of  all 
this  is  very  provoking :  Sir  James  is  gone,  Maria 
highly  incensed,  and  Mrs.  Mainwaring  insupport- 
ably  jealous;  so  jealous,  in  short,  and  so  enraged 
against  me,  that,  in  the  fury  of  her  temper,  I 
should  not  be  surprised  at  her  appealing  to  her 
guardian,  if  she  had  the  liberty  of  addressing  him  : 
but  there  your  husband  stands  my  friend;  and 
the  kindest,  most  amiable  action  of  his  life  was  his 


10  LADY   SUSAN. 

throwing  her  off  forever  on  her  marriage.  Keep 
up  his  resentment,  therefore,  I  charge  you.  We 
are  now  in  a  sad  state;  no  house  was  ever  more  al- 
tered :  the  whole  party  are  at  war,  and  Mainwaring 
scarcely  dares  speak  to  me.  It  is  time  for  me  to 
be  gone:  I  have  therefore  determined  on  leaving 
them,  and  shall  spend,  I  hope,  a  comfortable  day 
with  you  in  town  within  this  week.  If  I  am  as 
little  in  favor  with  Mr.  Johnson  as  ever,  you  must 
come  to  me  at  10  Wigmore  Street ;  but  I  hope  this 
may  not  be  the  case,  for  as  Mr.  Johnson,  with  all 
his  faults,  is  a  man  to  whom  that  great  word  * '  re- 
spectable "  is  always  given,  and  I  am  known  to  be 
so  intimate  with  his  wife,  his  slighting  me  has  an 
awkward  look. 

I  take  London  in  my  way  to  that  insupporta- 
ble spot,  a  country  village;  for  I  am  really  going 
to  Churchhill.  Forgive  me,  my  dear  friend,  it  is 
my  last  resource.  Were  there  another  place  in 
England  open  to  me,  I  would  prefer  it.  Charles 
Vernon  is  my  aversion,  and  I  am  afraid  of  his 
wife.  At  Churchhill,  however,  I  must  remain  till 
I  have  something  better  in  view.  My  young  lady 
accompanies  me  to  town,  where  I  shall  deposit 
her  under  the  care  of  Miss  Summers,  in  Wigmore 
Street,  till  she  becomes  a  little  more  reasonable. 
She  will  make  good  connections  there,  as  the  girls 
are  all  of  the  best  families.  The  price  is  im- 
mense, and  much  beyond  what  I  can  ever  attempt 
to  pay. 

Adieu,  I  will  send  you  a  line  as  soon  as  I  arrive 
in  town. 

Yours  ever,  S.  VERNOJST. 


LADY  SUSAN.  11 

III. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHTJRCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHEK,  —  I  am  very  sorry  to  tell 
you  that  it  will  not  be  in  our  power  to  keep  our 
promise  of  spending  our  Christmas  with  you;  and 
we  are  prevented  that  happiness  by  a  circumstance 
which  is  not  likely  to  make  us  any  amends.  Lady 
Susan,  in  a  letter  to  her  brother-in-law,  has  de- 
clared her  intention  of  visiting  us  almost  imme- 
diately ;  and  as  such  a  visit  is  in  all  probability 
merely  an  affair  of  convenience,  it  is  impossible  to 
conjecture  its  length.  I  was  by  no  means  prepared 
for  such  an  event,  nor  can  I  now  account  for  her 
ladyship's  conduct;  Langford  appeared  so  exactly 
the  place  for  her  in  every  respect,  as  well  from  the 
elegant  and  expensive  style  of  living  there,  as 
from  her  particular  attachment  to  Mr.  Mainwaring, 
that  I  was  very  far  from  expecting  so  speedy  a  dis- 
tinction, though  I  always  imagined  from  her  in- 
creasing friendship  for  us  since  her  husband's 
death  that  we  should,  at  some  future  period,  be 
obliged  to  receive  her.  Mr.  Vernon,  I  think,  was 
a  great  deal  too  kind  to  her  when  he  was  in  Staf- 
fordshire ;  her  behavior  to  him,  independent  of  her 
general  character,  has  been  so  inexcusably  artful 
and  ungenerous  since  our  marriage  was  first  in 
agitation  that  no  one  less  amiable  and  mild  than 
himself  could  have  overlooked  it  all;  and  though, 
as  his  brother's  widow,  and  in  narrow  circum- 
stances, it  was  proper  to  render  her  pecuniary 
assistance,  I  cannot  help  thinking  his  pressing  in- 


12  LADY  SUSAN. 

vitation  to  her  to  visit  us  at  Churchhill  perfectly 
unnecessary.  Disposed,  however,  as  he  always  is 
to  think  the  best  of  every  one,  her  display  of  grief, 
and  professions  of  regret,  and  general  resolutions 
of  prudence  were  sufficient  to  soften  his  heart,  and 
make  him  really  confide  in  her  sincerity;  but  as 
for  myself,  I  am  still  unconvinced,  and  plausibly 
as  her  ladyship  has  now  written,  I  cannot  make  up 
my  mind  till  I  better  understand  her  real  meaning 
in  coming  to  us.  You  may  guess,  therefore,  my 
dear  madam,  with  what  feelings  I  look  forward  to 
her  arrival.  She  will  have  occasion  for  all  those 
attractive  powers  for  which  she  is  celebrated  to 
gain  any  share  of  my  regard;  and  I  shall  certainly 
endeavor  to  guard  myself  against  their  influence, 
if  not  accompanied  by  something  more  substantial. 
She  expresses  a  most  eager  desire  of  being  ac- 
quainted with  me,  and  makes  very  gracious  men- 
tion of  my  children,  but  I  am  not  quite  weak 
enough  to  suppose  a  woman  who  has  behaved  with 
inattention,  if  not  with  unkindness  to  her  own 
child,  should  be  attached  to  any  of  mine.  Miss 
Vernon  is  to  be  placed  at  a  school  in  London 
before  her  mother  comes  to  us,  which  I  am  glad  of, 
for  her  sake  and  my  own.  It  must  be  to  her  ad- 
vantage to  be  separated  from  her  mother,  and  a 
girl  of  sixteen  who  has  received  so  wretched  an 
education  could  not  be  a  very  desirable  companion 
here.  Reginald  has  long  wished,  I  know,  to  see 
the  captivating  Lady  Susan,  and  we  shall  depend 
on  his  joining  our  party  soon.  I  am  glad  to  hear 
that  my  father  continues  so  well;  and  am,  with 
best  love,  etc., 

CATHERINE  VERNON. 


LADY  SUSAN.  13 

IV. 
Mr.  D&  Courcy  to  Mrs.  Vernon. 

PARKLANDS. 

MY  DEAR  SISTER,  —  I  congratulate  you  and  Mr. 
Vernon  on  being  about  to  receive  into  your  family 
the  most  accomplished  coquette  in  England.  As  a 
very  distinguished  flirt  I  have  always  been  taught 
to  consider  her,  but  it  has  lately  fallen  in  my  way 
to  hear  some  particulars  of  her  conduct  at  Langford, 
which  prove  that  she  does  not  confine  herself  to 
that  sort  of  honest  flirtation  which  satisfies  most 
people,  but  aspires  to  the  more  delicious  gratifica- 
tion of  making  a  whole  family  miserable.  By  her 
behavior  to  Mr.  Mainwaring  she  gave  jealousy  and 
wretchedness  to  his  wife,  and  by  her  attentions  to 
a  young  man  previously  attached  to  Mr.  Main- 
waring's  sister  deprived  an  amiable  girl  of  her 
lover. 

I  learnt  all  this  from  Mr.  Smith,  now  in  this 
neighborhood  (I  have  dined  with  him,  at  Hurst 
and  Wilford),  who  is  just  come  from  Langford, 
where  he  was  a  fortnight  with  her  ladyship,  and 
who  is  therefore  well  qualified  to  make  the 
communication. 

What  a  woman  she  must  be !  I  long  to  see  her, 
and  shall  certainly  accept  your  kind  invitation, 
that  I  may  form  some  idea  of  those  bewitching 
powers  which  can  do  so  much  —  engaging  at  the 
same  time,  and  in  the  same  house,  the  affections 
of  two  men,  who  were  neither  of  them  at  liberty 


14  LADY  SUSAN. 

to  bestow  them  —  and  all  this  without  the  charm 
of  youth!  I  am  glad  to  find  Miss  Vernon  does 
not  accompany  her  mother  to  Churchhill,  as  she 
has  not  even  manners  to  recommend  her;  and  ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Smith's  account,  is  equally  dull 
and  proud.  Where  pride  and  stupidity  unite 
there  can  be  no  dissimulation  worthy  notice,  and 
Miss  Vernon  shall  be  consigned  to  unrelenting 
contempt;  but  by  all  that  I  can  gather  Lady  Susan 
possesses  a  degree  of  captivating  deceit  which  it 
must  be  pleasing  to  witness  and  detect.  I  shall 
be  with  you  very  soon,  and  am  ever 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

K.  DE  COURCY. 


V. 

Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

CHURCHHILL. 

I  RECEIVED  your  note,  my  dear  Alicia,  just 
before  I  left  town,  and  rejoice  to  be  assured  that 
Mr.  Johnson  suspected  nothing  of  your  engagement 
the  evening  before.  It  is  undoubtedly  better  to 
deceive  him  entirely,  and  since  he  will  be  stub- 
born he  must  be  tricked.  I  arrived  here  in  safety, 
and  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  my  reception 
from  Mr.  Vernon ;  but  I  confess  myself  not  equally 
satisfied  with  the  behavior  of  his  lady.  She  is 
perfectly  well-bred,  indeed,  and  has  the  air  of  a 
woman  of  fashion,  but  her  manners  are  not  such 
as  can  persuade  me  of  her  being  prepossessed  in 
my  favor.  I  wanted  her  to  be  delighted  at  seeing 


LADY  SUSAN.  15 

me.  I  was  as  amiable  as  possible  on  the  occasion, 
but  all  in  vain.  She  does  not  like  me.  To  be 
sure,  when  we  consider  that  I  did  take  some  pains 
to  prevent  my  brother-in-law's  marrying  her,  this 
want  of  cordiality  is  not  very  surprising,  and  yet 
it  shows  an  illiberal  and  vindictive  spirit  to  resent 
a  project  which  influenced  me  six  years  ago,  and 
which  never  succeeded  at  last. 

I  am  sometimes  disposed  to  repent  that  I  did 
not  let  Charles  buy  Vernon  Castle,  when  we  were 
obliged  to  sell  it;  but  it  was  a  trying  circum- 
stance, especially  as  the  sale  took  place  exactly  at 
the  time  of  his  marriage ;  and  everybody  ought  to 
respect  the  delicacy  of  those  feelings  which  could 
not  endure  that  my  husband's  dignity  should  be 
lessened  by  his  younger  brother's  having  posses- 
sion of  the  family  estate.  Could  matters  have 
been  so  arranged  as  to  prevent  the  necessity  of 
our  leaving  the  castle,  could  we  have  lived  with 
Charles  and  kept  him  single,  I  should  have  been 
very  far  from  persuading  my  husband  to  dispose  of 
it  elsewhere ;  but  Charles  was  on  the  point  of  mar- 
rying Miss  De  Courcy,  and  the  event  has  justified 
me.  Here  are  children  in  abundance,  and  what 
benefit  could  have  accrued  to  me  from  his  pur- 
chasing Vernon?  My  having  prevented  it  may 
perhaps  have  given  his  wife  an  unfavorable  im- 
pression; but  where  there  is  a  disposition  to  dis- 
like, a  motive  will  never  be  wanting;  and  as  to 
money  matters  it  has  not  withheld  him  from  being 
very  useful  to  me.  I  really  have  a  regard  for  him, 
he  is  so  easily  imposed  upon!  The  house  is  a  good 
one,  the  furniture  fashionable,  and  everything  an- 


16  LADY  SUSAN. 

nounces  plenty  and  elegance.  Charles  is  very  rich, 
I  am  sure;  when  a  man  has  once  got  his  name  in 
a  banking-house,  he  rolls  in  money;  but  they  do 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it,  keep  very  little 
company,  and  never  go  to  London  but  on  business. 
We  shall  be  as  stupid  as  possible.  I  mean  to  win 
my  sister-in-law's  heart  through  the  children;  I 
know  all  their  names  already,  and  am  going  to  at- 
tach myself  with  the  greatest  sensibility  to  one  in 
particular,  a  young  Frederic,  whom  I  take  on  my 
lap  and  sigh  over  for  his  dear  uncle's  sake. 

Poor  Mainwaring!  I  need  not  tell  you  how  much 
I  miss  him,  how  perpetually  he  is  in  my  thoughts. 
I  found  a  dismal  letter  from  him  on  my  arrival 
here,  full  of  complaints  of  his  wife  and  sister,  and 
lamentations  on  the  cruelty  of  his  fate.  I  passed 
off  the  letter  as  his  wife's,  to  the  Vernons,  and 
when  I  write  to  him  it  must  be  under  cover 
to  you. 

Ever  yours,  S.  VERNON, 


VI. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Mr.  De  Courcy. 

CHDRCHHILL. 

WELL,  my  dear  Keginald,  I  have  seen  this  dan- 
gerous creature,  and  must  give  you  some  descrip- 
tion of  her,  though  I  hope  you  will  soon  be  able 
to  form  your  own  judgment.  She  is  really  exces- 
sively pretty ;  however  you  may  choose  to  question 
the  allurements  of  a  lady  no  longer  young,  I  must, 
for  my  own  part,  declare  that  I  have  seldom  seen 


LADY  SUSAN.  17 

so  lovely  a  woman  as  Lady  Susan.  She  is  deli- 
cately fair,  with  fine  gray  eyes  and  dark  eyelashes ; 
and  from  her  appearance  one  would  not  suppose 
her  more  than  five  and  twenty,  though  she  must 
in  fact  be  ten  years  older.  I  was  certainly  not 
disposed  to  admire  her,  though  always  hearing  she 
was  beautiful;  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  she 
possesses  an  uncommon  union  of  symmetry,  bril- 
liancy, and  grace.  Her  address  to  me  was  so  gen- 
tle, frank,  and  even  affectionate,  that,  if  I  had  not 
known  how  much  she  has  always  disliked  me  for 
marrying  Mr.  Vernon,  and  that  we  had  never  met 
before,  I  should  have  imagined  her  an  attached 
friend.  One  is  apt,  I  believe,  to  connect  assur- 
ance of  manner  with  coquetry,  and  to  expect  that 
an  impudent  address  will  naturally  attend  an  im- 
pudent mind;  at  least  I  was  myself  prepared  for 
an  improper  degree  of  confidence  in  Lady  Susan; 
but  her  countenance  is  absolutely  sweet,  and  her 
voice  and  manner  winningly  mild.  I  am  sorry  it 
is  so,  for  what  is  this  but  deceit?  Unfortunately, 
one  knows  her  too  well.  She  is  clever  and  agree- 
able, has  all  that  knowledge  of  the  world  which 
makes  conversation  easy,  and  talks  very  well  with 
a  happy  command  of  language,  which  is  too  often 
used,  I  believe,  to  make  black  appear  white.  She 
has  already  almost  persuaded  me  of  her  being 
warmly  attached  to  her  daughter,  though  I  have 
been  so  long  convinced  to  the  contrary.  She 
speaks  of  her  with  so  much  tenderness  and  anxi- 
ety, lamenting  so  bitterly  the  neglect  of  her  edu- 
cation, which  she  represents  however  as  wholly 
unavoidable,  that  I  am  forced  to  recollect  how 

2 


18  LADY  SUSAN. 

many  successive  springs  her  ladyship  spent  in 
town,  while  her  daughter  was  left  in  Staffordshire 
to  the  care  of  servants,  or  a  governess  very  little 
better,  to  prevent  my  believing  what  she  says. 

Jf  her  manners  have  so  great  an  influence  on  my 
resentful  heart,  you  may  judge  how  much  more 
strongly  they  operate  on  Mr.  Vernon's  generous 
temper.  I  wish  I  could  be  as  well  satisfied  as  he 
is,  that  it  was  really  her  choice  to  leave  Langford 
for  Churchhill ;  and  if  she  had  not  stayed  there  for 
months  before  she  discovered  that  her  friend's 
manner  of  living  did  not  suit  her  situation  or  feel- 
ings, I  might  have  believed  that  concern  for  the 
loss  of  such  a  husband  as  Mr.  Vernon,  to  whom 
her  own  behavior  was  far  from  unexceptionable, 
might  for  a  time  make  her  wish  for  retirement. 
But  I  cannot  forget  the  length  of  her  visit  to  the 
Mainwarings;  and  when  I  reflect  on  the  different 
mode  of  life  which  she  led  with  them  from  that  to 
which  she  must  now  submit,  I  can  only  suppose 
that  the  wish  of  establishing  her  reputation  by 
following  though  late  the  path  of  propriety,  occa- 
sioned her  removal  from  a  family  where  she  must 
in  reality  have  been  particularly  happy.  Your 
friend  Mr.  Smith's  story,  however,  cannot  be 
quite  correct,  as  she  corresponds  regularly  with 
Mrs.  Mainwaring.  At  any  rate  it  must  be  exag- 
gerated. It  is  scarcely  possible  that  two  men 
should  be  so  grossly  deceived  by  her  at  once. 

Yours,  etc., 

CATHERINE  VERNON. 


LADY  SUSAN.  19 

VII. 

Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

CHURCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  ALICIA,  —  You  are  very  good  in  tak- 
ing notice  of  Frederica,  and  I  am  grateful  for  it  as 
a  mark  of  your  friendship;  but  as  I  cannot  have 
any  doubt  of  the  warmth  of  your  affection,  I  am 
far  from  exacting  so  heavy  a  sacrifice.  She  is  a 
stupid  girl,  and  has  nothing  to  recommend  her. 
I  would  not,  therefore,  on  my  account  have  you 
encumber  one  moment  of  your  precious  time  by 
sending  for  her  to  Edward  Street,  especially  as 
every  visit  is  so  much  deducted  from  the  grand  af- 
fair of  education,  which  I  really  wish  to  have  at- 
tended to  while  she  remains  at  Miss  Summers'.  I 
want  her  to  play  and  sing  with  some  portion  of 
taste  and  a  good  deal  of  assurance,  as  she  has  my 
hand  and  arm  and  a  tolerable  voice.  I  was  so 
much  indulged  in  my  infant  years  that  I  was 
never  obliged  to  attend  to  anything,  and  conse- 
quently am  without  the  accomplishments  which 
are  now  necessary  to  finish  a  pretty  woman.  Not 
that  I  am  an  advocate  for  the  prevailing  fashion  of 
acquiring  a  perfect  knowledge  of  all  languages, 
arts,  and  sciences.  It  is  throwing  time  away 
to  be  mistress  of  French,  Italian,  and  German: 
music,  singing,  and  drawing,  etc.,  will  gain  a 
woman  some  applause,  but  will  not  add  one  lover 
to  her  list  —  grace  and  manner,  after  all,  are  of 
the  greatest  importance.  I  do  not  mean,  there- 


20  LADY  SUSAN. 

fore,  that  Frederica's  acquirements  should  be  more 
than  superficial,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  she  will 
not  remain  long  enough  at  school  to  understand 
anything  thoroughly.  I  hope  to  see  her  the  wife 
of  Sir  James  within  a  twelvemonth.  You  know 
on  what  I  ground  my  hope,  and  it  is  certainly  a 
good  foundation,  for  school  must  be  very  humilia- 
ting to  a  girl  of  Frederica's  age.  And  by  the  by, 
you  had  better  not  invite  her  any  more  on  that 
account,  as  I  wish  her  to  find  her  situation  as  un- 
pleasant as  possible.  I  am  sure  of  Sir  James  at 
any  time,  and  could  make  him  renew  his  appli- 
cation by  a  line.  I  shall  trouble  you  meanwhile 
to  prevent  his  forming  any  other  attachment  when 
he  comes  to  town.  Ask  him  to  your  house  occa- 
sionally, and  talk  to  him  of  Frederica,  that  he 
may  not  forget  her.  Upon  the  whole,  I  commend 
my  own  conduct  in  this  affair  extremely,  and  re- 
gard it  as  a  very  happy  instance  of  circumspection 
and  tenderness.  Some  mothers  would  have  in- 
sisted on  their  daughter's  accepting  so  good  an 
offer  on  the  first  overture;  but  I  could  not  recon- 
cile it  to  myself  to  force  Frederica  into  a  marriage 
from  which  her  heart  revolted,  and  instead  of 
adopting  so  harsh  a  measure  merely  propose  to 
make  it  her  own  choice,  by  rendering  her  thor- 
oughly uncomfortable  till  she  does  accept  him  — 
But  enough  of  this  tiresome  girl.  You  may  well 
wonder  how  I  contrive  to  pass  my  time  here,  and 
for  the  first  week  it  was  insufferably  dull.  Now, 
however,  we  begin  to  mend;  our  party  is  enlarged 
by  Mrs.  Vernon's  brother,  a  handsome  young  man, 
who  promises  me  some  amusement.  There  is 


LADY  SUSAN.  21 

something  about  him  which  rather  interests  me, 
a  sort  of  sauciness  and  familiarity  which  I  shall 
teach  him  to  correct.  He  is  lively,  and  seems 
clever ;  and  when  I  have  inspired  him  with  greater 
respect  for  me  than  his  sister's  kind  offices  have 
implanted,  he  may  be  an  agreeable  flirt.  There  is 
exquisite  pleasure  in  subduing  an  insolent  spirit, 
in  making  a  person  predetermined  to  dislike  ac- 
knowledge one's  superiority.  I  have  disconcerted 
him  already  by  my  calm  reserve,  and  it  shall  be 
my  endeavor  to  humble  the  pride  of  these  self- 
important  De  Courcys  still  lower,  to  convince  Mrs. 
Vernon  that  her  sisterly  cautions  have  been  be- 
stowed in  vain,  and  to  persuade  Reginald  that  she 
has  scandalously  belied  me.  This  project  will 
serve  at  least  to  amuse  me,  and  prevent  my  feeling 
so  acutely  this  dreadful  separation  from  you  and 
all  whom  I  love. 

Yours  ever, 

S.  VERNON. 


VIII. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHUKCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  You  must  not  expect 
Reginald  back  again  for  some  time.  He  desires 
me  to  tell  you  that  the  present  open  weather  in- 
duces him  to  accept  Mr.  Vernon' s  invitation  to 
prolong  his  stay  in  Sussex,  that  they  may  have 
some  hunting  together.  He  means  to  send  for  his 
horses  immediately,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say 


22  LADY  SUSAN. 

when  you  may  see  him  in  Kent.  I  will  not  dis- 
guise my  sentiments  on  this  change  from  you,  my 
dear  mother,  though  I  think  you  had  better  not 
communicate  them  to  my  father,  whose  excessive 
anxiety  about  Reginald  would  subject  him  to  an 
alarm  which  might  seriously  affect  his  health  and 
spirits.  Lady  Susan  has  certainly  contrived,  in 
the  space  of  a  fortnight,  to  make  my  brother  like 
her.  In  short  I  am  persuaded  that  his  continuing 
here  beyond  the  time  originally  fixed  for  his  re- 
turn is  occasioned  as  much  by  a  degree  of  fascina- 
tion towards  her,  as  by  the  wish  of  hunting  with 
Mr.  Vernon,  and  of  course  I  cannot  receive  that 
pleasure  from  the  length  of  his  visit  which  my 
brother's  company  would  otherwise  give  me.  I 
am,  indeed,  provoked  at  the  artifice  of  this  unprin- 
cipled woman;  what  stronger  proof  of  her  danger- 
ous abilities  can  be  given  than  this  perversion  of 
Reginald's  judgment,  which  when  he  entered  the 
house  was  so  decidedly  against  her?  In  his  last 
letter  he  actually  gave  me  some  particulars  of  her 
behavior  at  Langford,  such  as  he  received  from  a 
gentleman  who  knew  her  perfectly  well,  which,  if 
true,  must  raise  abhorrence  against  her,  and  which 
Reginald  himself  was  entirely  disposed  to  credit. 
His  opinion  of  her,  I  am  sure,  was  as  low  as  of 
any  woman  in  England;  and  when  he  first  came  it 
was  evident  that  he  considered  her  as  one  entitled 
neither  to  delicacy  nor  respect,  and  that  he  felt 
she  would  be  delighted  with  the  attentions  of  any 
man  inclined  to  flirt  with  her.  Her  behavior,  I 
confess,  has  been  calculated  to  do  away  with  such 
an  idea;  I  have  not  detected  the  smallest  impro- 


LADY  SUSAN.  23 

priety  in  it  —  nothing  of  vanity,  of  pretension,  of 
levity;  and  she  is  altogether  so  attractive  that  I 
should  not  wonder  at  his  being  delighted  with 
her,  had  he  known  nothing  of  her  previous  to  this 
personal  acquaintance ;  hut  against  reason,  against 
conviction,  to  be  so  well  pleased  with  her,  as  I  am 
sure  he  is,  does  really  astonish  me.  His  admira- 
tion was  at  first  very  strong,  but  no  more  than 
was  natural,  and  I  did  not  wonder  at  his  being 
much  struck  by  the  gentleness  and  delicacy  of  her 
manners;  but  when  he  has  mentioned  her  of  late 
it  has  been  in  terms  of  more  extraordinary  praise; 
and  yesterday  he  actually  said  that  he  could  not  be 
surprised  at  any  effect  produced  on  the  heart  of 
man  by  such  loveliness  and  such  abilities;  and 
when  I  lamented,  in  reply,  the  badness  of  her  dis- 
position, he  observed  that  whatever  might  have 
been  her  errors  they  were  to  be  imputed  to  her 
neglected  education  and  early  marriage,  and  that 
she  was  altogether  a  wonderful  woman.  This 
tendency  to  excuse  her  conduct,  or  to  forget  it,  in 
the  warmth  of  admiration,  vexes  me;  and  if  I  did 
not  know  that  Reginald  is  too  much  at  home  at 
Churchhill  to  need  an  invitation  for  lengthening 
his  visit,  I  should  regret  Mr.  Vernon's  giving  him 
any.  Lady  Susan's  intentions  are  of  course  those 
of  absolute  coquetry,  or  a  desire  of  universal  ad- 
miration; I  cannot  for  a  moment  imagine  that  she 
has  anything  more  serious  in  view;  but  it  morti- 
fies me  to  see  a  young  man  of  Keginald's  sense 
duped  by  her  at  all. 

I  am,  etc., 

CATHERINE  VEKNON 


24  LADY  SUSAN. 

IX. 

Mrs.  Johnson  to  Lady  S.  Vernon. 

EDWARD  STREET. 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND,  —  I  congratulate  you  on 
Mr.  De  Courcy's  arrival,  and  I  advise  you  by  all 
means  to  marry  him;  his  father's  estate  is,  we 
know,  considerable,  and  I  believe  certainly  en- 
tailed. Sir  Reginald  is  very  infirm,  and  not  likely 
to  stand  in  your  way  long.  I  hear  the  young  man 
well  spoken  of;  and  though  no  one  can  really  de- 
serve you,  my  dearest  Susan,  Mr.  De  Courcy  may 
be  worth  having.  Mainwaring  will  storm  of 
course,  but  you  may  easily  pacify  him;  besides, 
the  most  scrupulous  point  of  honor  could  not  require 
you  to  wait  for  his  emancipation.  I  have  seen  Sir 
James ;  he  came  to  town  for  a  few  days  last  week, 
and  called  several  times  in  Edward  Street.  I 
talked  to  him  about  you  and  your  daughter,  and 
he  is  so  far  from  having  forgotten  you  that  I  am 
sure  he  would  marry  either  of  you  with  pleasure. 
I  gave  him  hopes  of  Frederica's  relenting,  and 
told  him  a  great  deal  of  her  improvements.  I 
scolded  him  for  making  love  to  Maria  Mainwaring; 
he  protested  that  he  had  been  only  in  joke,  and 
we  both  laughed  heartily  at  her  disappointment; 
and,  in  short,  were  very  agreeable.  He  is  as  silly 
as  ever. 

Yours  faithfully, 

ALICIA. 


LADY  SUSAN.  25 


Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

CHUKCHHILL. 

I  AM  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  for 
your  advice  respecting  Mr.  De  Courcy,  which  I 
know  was  given  with  the  full  conviction  of  its  ex- 
pediency, though  I  am  not  quite  determined  on  fol- 
lowing it.  I  cannot  easily  resolve  on  anything 
so  serious  as  marriage;  especially  as  I  am  not  at 
present  in  want  of  money,  and  might  perhaps,  till 
the  old  gentleman's  death,  he  very  little  benefited 
by  the  match.  It  is  true  that  I  am  vain  enough 
to  believe  it  within  my  reach.  I  have  made  him 
sensible  of  my  power,  and  can  now  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  triumphing  over  a  mind  prepared  to 
dislike  me,  and  prejudiced  against  all  my  past 
actions.  His  sister,  too,  is,  I  hope,  convinced  how 
little  the  ungenerous  representations  of  any  one  to 
the  disadvantage  of  another  will  avail  when  op- 
posed by  the  immediate  influence  of  intellect  and 
manner.  I  see  plainly  that  she  is  uneasy  at  my 
progress  in  the  good  opinion  of  her  brother,  and  con- 
clude that  nothing  will  be  wanting  on  her  part  to 
counteract  me;  but  having  once  made  him  doubt 
the  justice  of  her  opinion  of  me,  I  think  I  may 
defy  her.  It  has  been  delightful  to  me  to  watch 
his  advances  towards  intimacy,  especially  to  ob- 
serve his  altered  manner  in  consequence  of  my 
repressing  by  the  cool  dignity  of  my  deportment 
his  insolent  approach  to  direct  familiarity.  My 


26  LADY  SUSAN. 

conduct  has  been  equally  guarded  from  the  first, 
and  I  never  behaved  less  like  a  coquette  in  the 
whole  course  of  my  life,  though  perhaps  my  desire 
of  dominion  was  never  more  decided.  I  have  sub- 
dued him  entirely  by  sentiment  and  serious  con- 
versation, and  made  him,  I  may  venture  to  say,  at 
least  half  in  love  with  me,  without  the  semblance 
of  the  most  commonplace  flirtation.  Mrs.  Ver- 
non's  consciousness  of  deserving  every  sort  of  re- 
venge that  it  can  be  in  my  power  to  inflict  for  her 
ill-offices  could  alone  enable  her  to  perceive  that  I 
am  actuated  by  any  design  in  behavior  so  gentle 
and  unpretending.  Let  her  think  and  act  as  she 
chooses,  however.  I  have  never  yet  found  that 
the  advice  of  a  sister  could  prevent  a  young  man's 
being  in  love  if  he  chose.  We  are  advancing  now 
to  some  kind  of  confidence,  and  in  short  are  likely 
to  be  engaged  in  a  sort  of  platonic  friendship. 
On  my  side  you  may  be  sure  of  its  never  being 
more,  for  if  I  were  not  attached  to  another  person 
as  much  as  I  can  be  to  any  one,  I  should  make  a 
point  of  not  bestowing  my  affection  on  a  man  who 
had  dared  to  think  so  meanly  of  me.  Reginald 
has  a  good  figure,  and  is  not  unworthy  the  praise 
you  have  heard  given  him,  but  is  still  greatly 
inferior  to  our  friend  at  Langford.  He  is  less 
polished,  less  insinuating  than  Mainwaring,  and 
is  comparatively  deficient  in  the  power  of  saying 
those  delightful  things  which  put  one  in  good 
humor  with  oneself  and  all  the  world.  He  is 
quite  agreeable  enough,  however,  to  afford  me 
amusement,  and  to  make  many  of  those  hours  pass 
very  pleasantly  which  would  otherwise  be  spent  in 


LADY  SUSAN.  27 

endeavoring  to  overcome  my  sister-in-law's  reserve, 
and  listening  to  the  insipid  talk  of  her  husband. 
Your  account  of  Sir  James  is  most  satisfactory, 
and  I  mean  to  give  Miss  Frederica  a  hint  of  my 
intentions  very  soon. 

Yours,  etc., 

S.  VERNON. 

XI. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL 

I  REALLY  grow  quite  uneasy,  my  dearest  mother, 
about  Reginald,  from  witnessing  the  very  rapid 
increase  of  Lady  Susan's  influence.  They  are  now 
on  terms  of  the  most  particular  friendship,  fre- 
quently engaged  in  long  conversations  together; 
and  she  has  contrived  by  the  most  artful  coquetry 
to  subdue  his  judgment  to  her  own  purposes.  It 
is  impossible  to  see  the  intimacy  between  them  so 
very  soon  established  without  some  alarm,  though 
I  can  hardly  suppose  that  Lady  Susan's  plans  ex- 
tend to  marriage.  I  wish  you  could  get  Reginald 
home  again  on  any  plausible  pretence;  he  is  not  at 
all  disposed  to  leave  us,  and  I  have  given  him  as 
many  hints  of  my  father's  precarious  state  of 
health  as  common  decency  will  allow  me  to  do  in 
my  own  house.  Her  power  over  him  must  now 
be  boundless,  as  she  has  entirely  effaced  all  his 
former  ill-opinion,  and  persuaded  him  not  merely 
to  forget  but  to  justify  her  conduct.  Mr.  Smith's 
account  of  her  proceedings  at  Langford,  where  he 
accused  her  of  having  made  Mr.  Mainwaring  and  a 


28  LADY  SUSAN. 

young  man  engaged  to  Miss  Mainwaring  distract- 
edly in  love  with  her,  which  Reginald  firmly  be- 
lieved when  he  came  here,  is  now,  he  is  persuaded, 
only  a  scandalous  invention.  He  has  told  me  so 
with  a  warmth  of  manner  which  spoke  his  regret 
at  having  believed  the  contrary  himself.  How 
sincerely  do  I  grieve  that  she  ever  entered  this 
house!  I  always  looked  forward  to  her  coming 
with  uneasiness;  but  very  far  was  it  from  origi- 
nating in  anxiety  for  Reginald.  I  expected  a  most 
disagreeable  companion  for  myself,  but  could  not 
imagine  that  my  brother  would  be  in  the  smallest 
danger  of  being  captivated  by  a  woman  with  whose 
principles  he  was  so  well  acquainted,  and  whose 
character  he  so  heartily  despised.  If  you  can  get 
him  away,  it  will  be  a  good  thing. 
Yours,  etc., 

CATHERINE  VERNON. 

XII. 
Sir  Reginald  de  Courcy  to  his  Son. 

PARKLANDS. 

I  KNOW  that  young  men  in  general  do  not  admit 
of  any  inquiry  even  from  their  nearest  relations 
into  affairs  of  the  heart,  but  I  hope,  my  dear 
Reginald,  that  you  will  be  superior  to  such  as 
allow  nothing  for  a  father's  anxiety,  and  think 
themselves  privileged  to  refuse  him  their  confidence 
and  slight  his  advice.  You  must  be  sensible  that  as 
an  only  son,  and  the  representative  of  an  ancient 
family,  your  conduct  in  life  is  most  interesting  to 
your  connections ;  and  in  the  very  important  con- 


LADY  SUSAN.  29 

cern  of  marriage  especially,  there  is  everything  at 
stake  —  your  own  happiness,  that  of  your  parents, 
and  the  credit  of  your  name.  I  dp  not  suppose 
that  you  would  deliberately  form  an  absolute  en- 
gagement of  that  nature  without  acquainting  your 
mother  and  myself,  or  at  least  without  being  con- 
vinced that  we  should  approve  of  your  choice;  but 
I  cannot  help  fearing  that  you  may  be  drawn  in, 
by  the  lady  who  has  lately  attached  you,  to  a 
marriage  which  the  whole  of  your  family,  far  and 
near,  must  highly  reprobate.  Lady  Susan's  age 
is  itself  a  material  objection,  but  her  want  of 
character  is  one  so  much  more  serious  that  the 
difference  of  even  twelve  years  becomes  in  com- 
parison of  small  amount.  Were  you  not  blinded 
by  a  sort  of  fascination,  it  would  be  ridiculous  in 
me  to  repeat  the  instances  of  great  misconduct  on 
her  side  so  very  generally  known. 

Her  neglect  of  her  husband,  her  encouragement 
of  other  men,  her  extravagance  and  dissipation, 
were  so  gross  and  notorious  that  no  one  could  be 
ignorant  of  them  at  the  time,  nor  can  now  have 
forgotten  them.  To  our  family  she  has  always 
been  represented  in  softened  colors  by  the  benev- 
olence of  Mr.  Charles  Vernon,  and  yet,  in  spite 
of  his  generous  endeavors  to  excuse  her,  we  know 
that  she  did,  from  the  most  selfish  motives,  take 
all  possible  pains  to  prevent  his  marriage  with 
Catherine. 

My  years  and  increasing  infirmities  make  me 
very  desirous  of  seeing  you  settled  in  the  world. 
To  the  fortune  of  a  wife,  the  goodness  of  my  own 
will  make  me  indifferent,  but  her  family  and 


30  LADY   SUSAN. 

character  must  be  equally  unexceptionable.  When 
your  choice  is  fixed  so  that  no  objection  can  be 
made  to  it,  then  I  can  promise  you  a  ready  and 
cheerful  consent;  but  it  is  my  duty  to  oppose  a 
match  which  deep  art  only  could  render  possible, 
and  must  in  the  end  make  wretched.  It  is  possi- 
ble her  behavior  may  arise  only  from  vanity,  or 
the  wish  of  gaining  the  admiration  of  a  man  whom 
she  must  imagine  to  be  particularly  prejudiced 
against  her;  but  it  is  more  likely  that  she  should 
aim  at  something  further.  She  is  poor,  and  may 
naturally  seek  an  alliance  which  must  be  advan- 
tageous to  herself;  you  know  your  own  rights,  and 
that  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  prevent  your  inherit- 
ing the  family  estate.  My  ability  of  distressing 
you  during  my  life  would  be  a  species  of  revenge 
to  which  I  could  hardly  stoop  under  any  circum- 
stances. 

I  honestly  tell  you  my  sentiments  and  inten- 
tions :  I  do  not  wish  to  work  on  your  fears,  but  on 
your  sense  and  affection.  It  would  destroy  every 
comfort  of  my  life  to  know  that  you  were  married 
to  Lady  Susan  Vernon:  it  would  be  the  death  of 
that  honest  pride  with  which  I  have  hitherto  con- 
sidered my  son;  I  should  blush  to  see  him,  to  hear 
of  him,  to  think  of  him.  I  may  perhaps  do  no 
good  but  that  of  relieving  my  own  mind  by  this 
letter,  but  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  your 
partiality  for  Lady  Susan  is  no  secret  to  your 
friends,  and  to  warn  you  against  her.  I  should 
be  glad  to  hear  your  reasons  for  disbelieving  Mr. 
Smith's  intelligence;  you  had  no  doubt  of  its 
authenticity  a  month  ago.  If  you  can  give  me  your 


LADY  SUSAN.  31 

assurance  of  having  no  design  beyond  enjoying  the 
conversation  of  a  clever  woman  for  a  short  period, 
and  of  yielding  admiration  only  to  her  beauty  and 
abilities,  without  being  blinded  by  them  to  her 
faults,  you  will  restore  me  to  happiness;  but  if 
you  cannot  do  this,  explain  to  me,  at  least,  what 
has  occasioned  so  great  an  alteration  in  your 
opinion  of  her. 

I  am,  etc.,  etc., 

REGINALD  DE  COURCY. 

XIII. 

Lady  De  Courcy  to  Mrs.  Vernon. 

PARKLANDS. 

MY  DEAR  CATHERINE,  —  Unluckily  I  was  con- 
fined to  my  room  when  your  last  letter  came,  by  a 
cold  which  affected  my  eyes  so  much  as  to  prevent 
my  reading  it  myself,  so  I  could  not  refuse  your 
father  when  he  offered  to  read  it  to  me,  by  which 
means  he  became  acquainted,  to  my  great  vexa- 
tion, with  all  your  fears  about  your  brother.  I 
had  intended  to  write  to  Reginald  myself  as  soon 
as  my  eyes  would  let  me,  to  point  out  as  well  as  I 
could  the  danger  of  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  so  artful  a  woman  as  Lady  Susan,  to  a  young 
man  of  his  age  and  high  expectations.  I  meant, 
moreover,  to  have  reminded  him  of  our  being 
quite  alone  now,  and  very  much  in  need  of  him  to 
keep  up  our  spirits  these  long  winter  evenings. 
Whether  it  would  have  done  any  good  can  never 
be  settled  now,  but  I  am  excessively  vexed  that 
Sir  Reginald  should  know  anything  of  the  matter 


32  LADY  SUSAN. 

which  we  foresaw  would  make  him  so  uneasy.  He 
caught  all  your  fears  the  moment  he  had  read  your 
letter,  and  I  am  sure  he  has  not  had  the  business 
out  of  his  head  since.  He  wrote  by  the  same  post 
to  Reginald  a  long  letter  full  of  it  all,  and  partic- 
ularly asking  an  explanation  of  what  he  may  have 
heard  from  Lady  Susan  to  contradict  the  late 
shocking  reports.  His  answer  came  this  morn- 
ing, which  I  shall  enclose  to  you,  as  I  think  you 
will  like  to  see  it.  I  wish  it  was  more  satisfac- 
tory; but  it  seems  written  with  such  a  determi- 
nation to  think  well  of  Lady  Susan,  that  his 
assurances  as  to  marriage,  etc.,  do  not  set  my 
heart  at  ease.  I  say  all  I  can,  however,  to  satisfy 
your  father,  and  he  is  certainly  less  uneasy  since 
Reginald's  letter.  How  provoking  it  is,  my  dear 
Catherine,  that  this  unwelcome  guest  of  yours 
should  not  only  prevent  our  meeting  this  Christ- 
mas, but  be  the  occasion  of  so  much  vexation  and 
trouble !  Kiss  the  dear  children  for  me. 
Your  affectionate  mother, 

C.  DE   COURCY. 

XIV. 

Mr.  De  Courcy  to  Sir  Reginald. 

CHURCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  this  moment  received 
your  letter,  which  has  given  me  more  astonish- 
ment than  I  ever  felt  before.  I  am  to  thank  my 
sister,  I  suppose,  for  having  represented  me  in 
such  a  light  as  to  injure  me  in  your  opinion,  and 
give  you  all  this  alarm.  I  know  not  why  she 


LADY  SUSAN.  33 

should  choose  to  make  herself  and  her  family  un- 
easy by  apprehending  an  event  which  no  one  but 
herself,  I  can  affirm,  would  ever  -  have  thought 
possible.  To  impute  such  a  design  to  Lady  Susan 
would  be  taking  from  her  every  claim  to  that  ex- 
cellent understanding  which  her  bitterest  enemies 
have  never  denied  herj  and  equally  low  must  sink 
my  pretensions  to  common  sense  if  I  am  suspected 
of  matrimonial  views  in  my  behavior  to  her.  Our 
difference  of  age  must  be  an  insuperable  objec- 
tion, and  I  entreat  you,  my  dear  father,  to  quiet 
your  mind,  and  no  longer  harbor  a  suspicion 
which  cannot  be  more  injurious  to  your  own  peace 
than  to  our  understandings.  I  can  have  no  other 
view  in  remaining  with  Lady  Susan,  than  to  enjoy 
for  a  short  time  (as  you  have  yourself  expressed  it) 
the  conversation  of  a  woman  of  high  intellectual 
powers.  If  Mrs.  Vernon  would  allow  something 
to  my  affection  for  herself  and  her  husband  in  the 
length  of  my  visit,  she  would  do  more  justice  to 
us  all ;  but  my  sister  is  unhappily  prejudiced  be- 
yond the  hope  of  conviction  against  Lady  Susan. 
From  an  attachment  to  her  husband,  which  in  it- 
self does  honor  to  both,  she  cannot  forgive  the 
endeavors  at  preventing  their  union,  which  have 
been  attributed  to  selfishness  in  Lady  Susan;  but 
in  this  case,  as  well  as  in  many  others,  the  world 
has  most  grossly  injured  that  lady,  by  supposing 
the  worst  where  the  motives  of  her  conduct  have 
been  doubtful.  Lady  Susan  had  heard  something 
so  materially  to  the  disadvantage  of  my  sister  as 
to  persuade  her  that  the  happiness  of  Mr.  Vernon, 
to  whom  she  was  always  much  attached,  would  be 


34  LADY  SUSAN. 

wholly  destroyed  by  the  marriage.  And  this  cir- 
cumstance, while  it  explains  the  true  motives  of 
Lady  Susan's  conduct,  and  removes  all  the  blame 
which  has  been  so  lavished  on  her,  may  also  con- 
vince us  how  little  the  general  report  of  any  one 
ought  to  be  credited;  since  no  character,  however 
upright,  can  escape  the  malevolence  of  slander. 
If  my  sister,  in  the  security  of  retirement,  with 
as  little  opportunity  as  inclination  to  do  evil, 
could  not  avoid  censure,  we  must  not  rashly  con- 
demn those  who,  living  in  the  world  and  sur- 
rounded with  temptations,  should  be  accused  of 
errors  which  they  are  known  to  have  the  power 
of  committing. 

I  blame  myself  severely  for  having  so  easily  be- 
lieved the  slanderous  tales  invented  by  Charles 
Smith  to  the  prejudice  of  Lady  Susan,  as  I  am  now 
convinced  how  greatly  they  have  traduced  her. 
As  to  Mrs.  Mainwaring's  jealousy  it  was  totally 
his  own  invention,  and  his  account  of  her  attach- 
ing Miss  Mainwaring's  lover  was  scarcely  better 
founded.  Sir  James  Martin  had  been  drawn  in 
by  that  young  lady  to  pay  her  some  attention; 
and  as  he  is  a  man  of  fortune,  it  was  easy  to  see 
her  views  extended  to  marriage.  It  is  well  known 
that  Miss  M.  is  absolutely  on  the  catch  for  a  hus- 
band, and  no  one  therefore  can  pity  her  for  losing, 
by  the  superior  attractions  of  another  woman,  the 
chance  of  being  able  to  make  a  worthy  man  com- 
pletely wretched.  Lady  Susan  was  far  from  in- 
tending such  a  conquest,  and  on  finding  how 
warmly  Miss  Mainwaring  resented  her  lover's  de- 
fection, determined,  in  spite  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


LADY  SUSAN.  35 

Mainwaring's  most  urgent  entreaties,  to  leave  the 
family.  I  have  reason  to  imagine  she  did  receive 
serious  proposals  from  Sir  James,  but  her  removing 
to  Langford  immediately  on  the  discovery  of  his 
attachment,  must  acquit  her  on  that  article  with 
any  mind  of  common  candor.  You  will,  I  am 
sure,  my  dear  Sir,  feel  the  truth  of  this,  and  will 
hereby  learn  to  do  justice  to  the  character  of  a 
very  injured  woman.  I  know  that  Lady  Susan  in 
coming  to  Churchhill  was  governed  only  by  the 
most  honorable  and  amiable  intentions;  her  pru- 
dence and  economy  are  exemplary,  her  regard  for 
Mr.  Vernon  equal  even  to  his  deserts ;  and  her  wish 
of  obtaining  my  sister's  good  opinion  merits  a  bet- 
ter return  than  it  has  received.  As  a  mother  she  is 
unexceptionable;  her  solid  affection  for  her  child 
is  shown  by  placing  her  in  hands  where  her  educa- 
tion will  be  properly  attended  to;  but  because  she 
has  not  the  blind  and  weak  partiality  of  most 
mothers,  she  is  accused  of  wanting  maternal  ten- 
derness. Every  person  of  sense,  however,  will 
know  how  to  value  and  commend  her  well-directed 
affection,  and  will  join  me  in  wishing  that  Ered- 
erica  Vernon  may  prove  more  worthy  than  she  has 
yet  done  of  her  mother's  tender  care.  I  have  now, 
my  dear  father,  written  my  real  sentiments  of  Lady 
Susan ;  you  will  know  from  this  letter  how  highly 
I  admire  her  abilities,  and  esteem  her  character; 
but  if  you  are  not  equally  convinced  by  my  full 
and  solemn  assurance  that  your  fears  have  been 
most  idly  created,  you  will  deeply  mortify  and 
distress  me. 

I  am,  etc.,  etc.,  B.  DE  CouRCY. 


. 


36  LADY  SUSAN. 

XV. 
Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  — I  return  you  Reginald's 
letter,  and  rejoice  with  all  my  heart  that  my  father 
is  made  easy  by  it :  tell  him  so,  with  my  congratu- 
lations ;  but  between  ourselves,  I  must  own  it  has 
only  convinced  me  of  my  brother's  having  no 
present  intention  of  marrying  Lady  Susan,  not 
that  he  is  in  110  danger  of  doing  so  three  months 
hence.  He  gives  a  very  plausible  account  of  her 
behavior  at  Langford;  I  wish  it  may  be  true,  but 
his  intelligence  must  come  from  herself,  and  I  am 
less  disposed  to  believe  it  than  to  lament  the  de- 
gree of  intimacy  subsisting  between  them  implied 
by  the  discussion  of  such  a  subject.  I  am  sorry  to 
have  incurred  his  displeasure,  but  can  expect  noth- 
ing better  while  he  is  so  very  eager  in  Lady 
Susan's  justification.  He  is  very  severe  against 
me  indeed,  and  yet  I  hope  I  have  not  been  hasty 
in  my  judgment  of  her.  Poor  woman!  though  I 
have  reasons  enough  for  my  dislike,  I  cannot  help 
pitying  her  at  present,  as  she  is  in  real  distress, 
and  with  too  much  cause.  She  had  this  morning 
a  letter  from  the  lady  with  whom  she  has  placed 
her  daughter,  to  request  that  Miss  Vernon  might 
be  immediately  removed,  as  she  had  been  detected 
in  an  attempt  to  run  away.  Why,  or  whither  she 
intended  to  go,  does  not  appear;  but  as  her  situa- 
tion seems  to  have  been  unexceptionable,  it  is  a 


LADY   SUSAN.  37 

sad  thing,  and  of  course  highly  distressing  to  Lady 
Susan.  Frederica  must  be  as  much  as  sixteen, 
and  ought  to  know  better;  but  from  what  her 
mother  insinuates,  I  am  afraid  she  is  a  perverse 
girl.  She  has  been  sadly  neglected,  however,  and 
her  mother  ought  to  remember  it.  Mr.  Vernon 
set  off  for  London  as  soon  as  she  had  determined 
what  should  be  done.  He  is,  if  possible,  to  pre-- 
vail  on  Miss  Summers  to  let  Frederica  continue 
with  her;  and  if  he  cannot  succeed,  to  bring  her 
to  Churchhill  for  the  present,  till  some  other  situ- 
ation can  be  found  for  her.  Her  ladyship  is  com- 
forting herself  meanwhile  by  strolling  along  the 
shrubbery  with  Reginald,  calling  forth  all  his 
tender  feelings,  I  suppose,  on  this  distressing 
occasion.  She  has  been  talking  a  great  deal  about 
it  to  me.  She  talks  vastly  well;  I  am  afraid  of 
being  ungenerous,  or  I  should  say  too  well  to  feel 
so  very  deeply ;  but  I  will  not  look  for  faults ;  she 
may  be  Reginald's  wife!  Heaven  forbid  it!  but 
why  should  I  be  quicker-sighted  than  any  one  else? 
Mr.  Vernon  declares  that  he  never  saw  deeper  dis- 
tress than  hers,  on  the  receipt  of  the  letter;  and  is 
his  judgment  inferior  to  mine?  She  was  very  un- 
willing that  Frederica  should  be  allowed  to  come 
to  Churchhill,  and  justly  enough,  as  it  seems  a 
sort  of  reward  to  behavior  deserving  very  differ- 
ently; but  it  was  impossible  to  take  her  anywhere 
else,  and  she  is  not  to  remain  here  long.  "It 
will  be  absolutely  necessary,"  said  she,  "as  you, 
my  dear  sister,  must  be  sensible,  to  treat  my 
daughter  with  some  severity  while  she  is  here;  a 
most  painful  necessity,  but  I  will  endeavor  to  sub- 


38  LADY  SUSAN. 

mit  to  it.  I  am  afraid  I  have  often  been  too  indul- 
gent, but  my  poor  Frederica's  temper  could  never 
bear  opposition  well:  you  must  support  and  en- 
courage mej  you  must  urge  the  necessity  of  re- 
proof if  you  see  me  too  lenient."  All  this  sounds 
very  reasonably.  Reginald  is  so  incensed  against 
the  poor  silly  girl!  Surely  it  is  not  to  Lady 
Susan's  credit  that  he  should  be  so  bitter  against 
her  daughter;  his  idea  of  her  must  be  drawn  from 
the  mother's  description.  Well,  whatever  may  be 
his  fate,  we  have  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  we 
have  done  our  utmost  to  save  him.  We  must 
commit  the  event  to  a  higher  power. 
Yours  ever,  etc. 

CATHERINE  VERNON. 


XVI. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs  Johnson. 

CHURCHHILL. 

NEVER,  my  dearest  Alicia,  was  I  so  provoked  in 
my  life  as  by  a  letter  this  morning  from  Miss 
Summers.  That  horrid  girl  of  mine  has  been  try- 
ing to  run  away.  I  had  not  a  notion  of  her  being 
such  a  little  devil  before,  she  seemed  to  have  all 
the  Vernon  milkiness ;  but  on  receiving  the  letter 
in  which  I  declared  my  intention  about  Sir  James, 
she  actually  attempted  to  elope ;  at  least,  I  cannot 
otherwise  account  for  her  doing  it.  She  meant,  I 
suppose,  to  go  to  the  Clarks  in  Staffordshire,  for 
she  has  no  other  acquaintances.  But  she  shall  be 


LADY  SUSAN.  39 

punished,  she  shall  have  him.  I  have  sent 
Charles  to  town  to  make  matters  up  if  he  can, 
for  I  do  not  by  any  means  want  her  here.  If 
Miss  Summers  will  not  keep  her,  you  must  find 
me  out  another  school,  unless  we  can  get  her  mar- 
ried immediately.  Miss  S.  writes  word  that  she 
could  not  get  the  young  lady  to  assign  any  cause 
for  her  extraordinary  conduct,  which  confirms  me 
in  my  own  previous  explanation  of  it.  Frederica 
is  too  shy,  I  think,  and  too  much  in  awe  of  me  to 
tell  tales;  but  if  the  mildness  of  her  uncle  should 
get  anything  out  of  her,  I  am  not  afraid.  I  trust 
I  shall  be  able  to  make  my  story  as  good  as  hers. 
If  I  am  vain  of  anything,  it  is  of  my  eloquence. 
Consideration  and  esteem  as  surely  follow  com- 
mand of  language  as  admiration  waits  on  beauty, 
and  here  I  have  opportunity  enough  for  the  exer- 
cise of  my  talent,  as  the  chief  of  my  time  is  spent 
in  conversation. 

Reginald  is  never  easy  unless  we  are  by  our- 
selves, and  when  the  weather  is  tolerable,  we  pace 
the  shrubbery  for  hours  together.  I  like  him  on 
the  whole  very  well;  he  is  clever  and  has  a  good 
deal  to  say,  but  he  is  sometimes  impertinent  and 
troublesome.  There  is  a  sort  of  ridiculous  deli- 
cacy about  him  which  requires  the  fullest  expla- 
nation of  whatever  he  may  have  heard  to  my 
disadvantage,  and  is  never  satisfied  till  he  thinks 
he  has  ascertained  the  beginning  and  end  of  every- 
thing. This  is  one  sort  of  love,  but  I  confess  it 
does  not  particularly  recommend  itself  to  me.  I 
infinitely  prefer  the  tender  and  liberal  spirit  of 
Mainwaring,  which,  impressed  with  the  deepest 


40  LADY  SUSAN. 

conviction  of  my  merit,  is  satisfied  that  whatever 
I  do  must  be  right;  and  look  with  a  degree  of  con- 
tempt on  the  inquisitive  and  doubtful  fancies  of 
that  heart  which  see«is  always  debating  on  the  rea- 
sonableness of  its  emotions.  Mainwaring  is  in- 
deed, beyond  all  compare,  superior  to  Reginald  — 
superior  in  everything  but  the  power  of  being  with 
me!  Poor  fellow!  he  is  much  distracted  by  jeal- 
ousy, which  I  am  not  sorry  for,  as  I  know  no 
better  support  of  love.  He  has  been  teasing  me  to 
allow  of  his  coming  into  this  country,  and  lodging 
somewhere  near  incog. ;  but  I  forbade  everything 
of  the  kind.  Those  women  are  inexcusable  who 
forget  what  is  due  to  themselves,  and  the  opinion 
of  the  world. 

Yours  ever, 

S.  VERNON. 


XVII. 
Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  Mr.  Vernon  returned  on 
Thursday  night,  bringing  his  niece  with  him. 
Lady  Susan  had  received  a  line  from  him  by  that 
day's  post,  informing  her  that  Miss  Summers  had 
absolutely  refused  to  allow  of  Miss  Vernon's  con- 
tinuance in  her  academy;  we  were  therefore 
prepared  for  her  arrival,  and  expected  them  impa- 
tiently the  whole  evening.  They  came  while  we 
were  at  tea,  and  I  never  saw  any  creature  look  so 


LADY  SUSAN.  41 

frightened  as  Frederica  when  she  entered  the  room. 
Lady  Susan,  who  had  been  shedding  tears  before, 
and  showing   great  agitation  at  the   idea  of  the 
meeting,  received  her  with  perfect  self-command, 
and  without  betraying  the  least  tenderness  of  spirit. 
She  hardly  spoke  to  her,  and  on  Frederica 's  burst- 
ing into  tears  as  soon  as  we  were  seated,  took  her 
out  of  the  room,  and  did  not  return  for  some  time. 
When  she  did,  her  eyes  looked  very  red,  and  she 
was  as  much  agitated  as  before.     We  saw  no  more 
of  her  daughter.     Poor  Reginald  was  beyond  meas- 
ure concerned  to  see  his  fair  friend  in  such  distress, 
and  watched  her  with  so  much  tender  solicitude, 
that  I,  who  occasionally  caught  her  observing  his 
countenance  with  exultation,  was  quite  out  of  pa- 
tience.     This    pathetic   representation  lasted  the 
whole  evening,   and  so  ostentatious   and  artful   a 
display  has  entirely  convinced  me  that  she  did  in 
fact  feel  nothing.     T  am  more  angry  with  her  than 
ever  since  T  have  seen  her  daughter;  the  poor  girl 
looks  so  unhappy  that  my  heart   aches  for   her. 
Lady  Susan  is  surely  too  severe,  for  Frederica  does 
not  seem  to  have  the  sort  of  temper  to  make  sever- 
ity  necessary.       She    looks    perfectly    timid,    de- 
jected, and  penitent.     She  is  very  pretty,  though 
not  so  handsome  as  her  mother,  nor  at  all  like  her. 
Her  complexion  is  delicate,  but  neither  so  fair  nor 
so  blooming  as  Lady  Susan's,   and  she  has  quite 
the  Vernon  cast  of  countenance,  the  oval  face  and 
mild  dark  eyes,  and  there  is  peculiar  sweetness  in 
her  look  when  she  speaks  either  to  her  uncle  or  me, 
for  as  we  behave  kindly  to  her  we  have  of  course 
engaged  her  gratitude. 


42  LADY  SUSAN. 

Her  mother  has  insinuated  that  her  temper  is 
intractable,  but  I  never  saw  a  face  less  indicative 
of  any  evil  disposition  than  hers;  and  from  what 
I  can  see  of  the  behavior  of  each  to  the  other,  the 
invariable  severity  of  Lady  Susan  and  the  silent 
dejection  of  Frederica,  I  am  led  to  believe  as  here- 
tofore that  the  former  has  no  real  love  for  her 
daughter,  and  has  never  done  her  justice  or  treated 
her  affectionately.  I  have  not  been  able  to  have 
any  conversation  with  my  niece j  she  is  shy,  and 
I  think  1  can  see  that  some  pains  are  taken  to  pre- 
vent her  being  much  with  me.  Nothing  satisfac- 
tory transpires  as  to  her  reason  for  running  away. 
Her  kind-hearted  uncle,  you  may  be  sure,  was  too 
fearful  of  distressing  her  to  ask  many  questions  as 
they  travelled.  I  wish  it  had  been  possible  for 
me  to  fetch  her  instead  of  him.  I  think  I  should 
have  discovered  the  truth  in  the  course  of  a  thirty- 
mile  journey.  The  small  pianoforte  has  been  re- 
moved within  these  few  days,  at  Lady  Susan's 
request,  into  her  dressing-room,  and  Frederica 
spends  great  part  of  the  day  there,  practising  as 
it  is  called;  but  I  seldom  hear  any  noise  when  I 
pass  that  way;  what  she  does  with  herself  there 
I  do  not  know.  There  are  plenty  of  books,  but  it 
is  not  every  girl  who  has  been  running  wild  the 
first  fifteen  years  of  her  life,  that  can  or  will  read. 
Poor  creature !  the  prospect  from  her  window  is  not 
very  instructive,  for  that  room  overlooks  the  lawn, 
you  know,  with  the  shrubbery  on  one  side,  where 
she  may  see  her  mother  walking  for  an  hour  to- 
gether in  earnest  conversation  with  Reginald.  A 
girl  of  Frederica's  age  must  be  childish  indeed,  if 


LADY  SUSAN.  43 

such  things  do  not  strike  her.  Is  it  not  inexcusa- 
ble to  give  such  an  example  to  a  daughter?  Yet 
Reginald  still  thinks  Lady  Susan  the  best  of 
mothers,  and  still  condemns  Frederica  as  a  worth- 
less girl!  He  is  convinced  that  her  attempt  to 
run  away  proceeded  from  no  justifiable  cause,  and 
had  no  provocation.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  sajT  that 
it  had,  but  while  Miss  Summers  declares  that  Miss 
Vernon  showed  no  signs  of  obstinacy  or  perverse- 
ness  during  her  whole  stay  in  Wigmore  Street, 
till  she  was  detected  in  this  scheme,  I  cannot  so 
readily  credit  what  Lady  Susan  has  made  him,  and 
wants  to  make  me  believe,  that  it  was  merely  an 
impatience  of  restraint  and  a  desire  of  escaping 
from  the  tuition  of  masters  which  brought  on  the 
plan  of  an  elopement.  O  Reginald,  how  is  your 
judgment  enslaved!  He  scarcel}'  dares  even  al- 
low her  to  be  handsome,  and  when  I  speak  of  her 
beauty,  replies  only  that  her  eyes  have  no  bril- 
liancy! Sometimes  he  is  sure  she  is  deficient  in 
understanding,  and  at  others  that  her  temper  only 
is  in  fault.  In  short,  when  a  person  is  always  to 
deceive,  it  is  impossible  to  be  consistent.  Lady 
Susan  finds  it  necessary  that  Frederica  should  be 
to  blame,  and  probably  has  sometimes  judged  it 
expedient  to  excuse  her  of  ill-nature  and  some- 
times to  lament  her  want  of  sense.  Reginald  is 
only  repeating  after  her  ladyship. 

I  remain,  etc.,  etc., 

CATHERINE  VEKNON. 


44  LADY  SUSAN. 


XVIII. 

From  the  same  to  the  same. 

CHCBCHHILL. 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  I  am  very  glad  to  find 
that  my  description  of  Frederica  Vernon  has  in- 
terested you,  for  I  do  believe  her  truly  deserving 
of  your  regard;  and  when  I  have  communicated  a 
notion  which  has  recently  struck  me,  your  kind 
impressions  in  her  favor  will,  I  am  sure,  be  height- 
ened. I  cannot  help  fancying  that  she  is  growing 
partial  to  my  brother.  I  so  very  often  see  her  eyes 
fixed  on  his  face  with  a  remarkable  expression  of 
pensive  admiration.  He  is  certainly  very  hand- 
some; and  yet  more,  there  is  an  openness  in  his 
manner  that  must  be  highly  prepossessing,  and  I 
am  sure  she  feels  it  so.  Thoughtful  and  pensive 
in  general,  her  countenance  always  brightens  into 
a  smile  when  Keginald  says  anything  amusing; 
and,  let  the  subject  be  ever  so  serious  that  he  may 
be  conversing  on,  I  am  much  mistaken  if  a  sylla- 
ble of  his  uttering  escapes  her.  I  want  to  make 
him  sensible  of  all  this,  for  we  know  the  power 
of  gratitude  on  such  a  heart  as  his;  and  could 
Frederica's  artless  affection  detach  him  from  her 
mother,  we  might  bless  the  day  which  brought  her 
to  Churchhill.  I  think,  my  dear  mother,  you  would 
not  disapprove  of  her  as  a  daughter.  She  is  ex- 
tremely young,  to  be  sure,  has  had  a  wretched 
education,  and  a  dreadful  example  of  levity  in  her 
mother;  but  yet  I  can  pronounce  her  disposition 


LADY  SUSAN.  45 

to  be  excellent,  and  her  natural  abilities  very  good. 
Though  totally  without  accomplishments,  she  is  by 
no  means  so  ignorant  as  one  might-  expect  to  find 
her,  being  fond  of  books  and  spending  the  chief  of 
her  time  in  reading.  Her  mother  leaves  her  more 
to  herself  than  she  did,  and  I  have  her  with  me  as 
much  as  possible,  and  have  taken  great  pains  to 
overcome  her  timidity.  We  are  very  good  friends, 
and  though  she  never  opens  her  lips  before  her 
mother,  she  talks  enough  when  alone  with  me  to 
make  it  clear  that,  if  properly  treated  by  Lady 
Susan,  she  would  always  appear  to  much  greater 
advantage.  There  cannot  be  a  more  gentle,  affec- 
tionate heart;  or  more  obliging  manners,  when 
acting  without  restraint;  and  her  little  cousins  are 
all  very  fond  of  her. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

C.  VERNON. 

XIX. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

CHURCHHILL. 

You  will  be  eager,  I  know,  to  hear  something 
further  of  Frederica,  and  perhaps  may  think  me 
negligent  for  not  writing  before.  She  arrived  with 
her  uncle  last  Thursday  fortnight,  when,  of  course, 
I  lost  no  time  in  demanding  the  cause  of  her  be- 
havior; and  soon  found  myself  to  have  been  per- 
fectly right  in  attributing  it  to  my  own  letter. 
The  prospect  of  it  frightened  her  so  thoroughly 
that,  with  a  mixture  of  true  girlish  perverseness 
and  folly,  she  resolved  on  getting  out  of  the  house 


46  LADY  SUSAN. 

and  proceeding  directly  by  the  stage  to  her  friends, 
the  Clarkes;  and  had  really  got  as  far  as  the 
length  of  two  streets  in  her  journey  when  she 
was  fortunately  missed,  pursued,  and  overtaken. 
Such  was  the  first  distinguished  exploit  of  Miss 
Frederica  Vernonj  and  if  we  consider  that  it  was 
achieved  at  the  tender  age  of  sixteen,  we  shall 
have  room  for  the  most  flattering  prognostics  of  her 
future  renown.  I  am  excessively  provoked,  how- 
ever, at  the  parade  of  propriety  which  prevented 
Miss  Summers  from  keeping  the  girl;  and  it  seems 
so  extraordinary  a  piece  of  nicety,  considering  my 
daughter's  family  connections,  that  I  can  only 
suppose  the  lady  to  be  governed  by  the  fear  of 
never  getting  her  money.  Be  that  as  it  may,  how- 
ever, Frederica  is  returned  on  my  hands ;  and  hav- 
ing nothing  else  to  employ  her,  is  busy  in  pursuing 
the  plan  of  romance  begun  at  Langford.  She  is 
actually  falling  in  love  with  Reginald  de  Courcy! 
To  disobey  her  mother  by  refusing  an  unexcep- 
tionable offer  is  not  enough;  her  affections  must 
also  be  given  without  her  mother's  approbation. 
I  never  saw  a  girl  of  her  age  bid  fairer  to  be  the 
sport  of  mankind.  Her  feelings  are  tolerably 
acute,  and  she  is  so  charmingly  artless  in  their 
display  as  to  afford  the  most  reasonable  hope  of 
her  being  ridiculous,  and  despised  by  every  man 
who  sees  her. 

Artlessuess  will  never  do  in  love  matters;  and 
that  girl  is  born  a  simpleton  who  has  it  either  by 
nature  or  affectation.  I  am  not  yet  certain  that 
Reginald  sees  what  she  is  about,  nor  is  it  of  much 
consequence.  She  is  now  an  object  of  indifference 


LADY  SUSAN.  47 

to  him,  and  she  would  be  one  of  contempt  were  he 
to  understand  her  emotions.  Her  beauty  is  much 
admired  by  the  Vernons,  but  it  has  no  effect  on 
him.  She  is  in  high  favor  with  her  aunt  alto- 
gether, because  she  is  so  little  like  myself,  of 
course.  She  is  exactly  the  companion  for  Mrs. 
Vernon,  who  dearly  loves  to  be  first,  and  to  have 
all  the  sense  and  all  the  wit  of  the  conversation  to 
herself:  Frederica  will  never  eclipse  her.  When 
she  first  came  I  was  at  some  pains  to  prevent  her 
seeing  much  of  her  aunt ;  but  I  have  relaxed,  as  I 
believe  I  may  depend  on  her  observing  the  rules  I 
have  laid  down  for  their  discourse.  But  do  not 
imagine  that  with  all  this  lenity  I  have  for  a  mo- 
ment given  up  my  plan  of  her  marriage.  No;  I 
am  unalterably  fixed  011  this  point,  though  I  have 
not  yet  quite  decided  on  the  manner  of  bringing  it 
about.  I  should  not  choose  to  have  the  business 
brought  on  here,  and  canvassed  by  the  wise  heads 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vernon;  and  I  cannot  just  now 
afford  to  go  to  town.  Miss  Frederica  must  there- 
fore wait  a  little. 

Yours  ever,  S.  VERNOX. 

XX. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL. 

WE  have  a  very  unexpected  guest  with  us  at 
present,  my  dear  mother :  he  arrived  yesterday.  I 
heard  a  carriage  at  the  door,  as  I  was  sitting  with 
my  children  while  they  dined;  and  supposing  I 


48  LADY  SUSAN. 

should  be  wanted,  left  the  nursery  soon  afterwards, 
and  was  half-way  downstairs,  when  Frederica,  as 
pale  as  ashes,  came  running  up,  and  rushed  by  me 
into  her  own  room.  I  instantly  followed,  and 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  "  Oh! ;>  said  she, 
"he  is  come  —  Sir  James  is  come,  and  what  shall 
I  do!"  This  was  no  explanation;  I  begged  her 
to  tell  me  what  she  meant.  At  that  moment  we 
were  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door:  it  was 
Reginald,  who  came,  lay  Lady  Susan's  direction, 
to  call  Frederica  down.  "It  is  Mr.  De  Courcy!  " 
said  she,  coloring  violently.  "Mamma  has  sent 
for  me;  I  must  go."  We  all  three  went  down  to- 
gether; and  I  saw  my  brother  examining  the 
terrified  face  of  Frederica  with  surprise.  In  the 
breakfast-room  we  found  Lady  Susan,  and  a  young 
man  of  gentlemanlike  appearance,  whom  she  intro- 
duced by  the  name  of  Sir  James  Martin  —  the 
very  person,  as  you  may  remember,  whom  it  was 
said  she  had  been  at  pains  to  detach  from  Miss 
Mainwaring;  but  the  conquest,  it  seems,  was  not 
designed  for  herself,  or  she  has  since  transferred  it 
to  her  daughter;  for  Sir  James  is  now  desperately 
in  love  with  Frederica,  and  with  full  encourage- 
ment from  mamma.  The  poor  girl,  however,  I  am 
sure,  dislikes  him;  and  though  his  person  and  ad- 
dress are  very  well,  he  appears,  both  to  Mr.  Vernon 
and  me,  a  very  weak  young  man.  Frederica  looked 
so  shy,  so  confused,  when  we  entered  the  room,  that 
I  felt  for  her  exceedingly.  Lady  Susan  behaved 
with  great  attention  to  her  visitor;  and  yet  I 
thought  I  could  perceive  that  she  had  no  particular 
pleasure  in  seeing  him.  Sir  James  talked  a  great 


LADY  SUSAN.  49 

deal,  and  made  many  civil  excuses  to  me  for  the 
liberty  he  had  taken  in  coming  to  Churchhill  — 
mixing  more  frequent  laughter  with  his  discourse 
than  the  subject  required  —  said  many  things  over 
and  over  again,  and  told  Lady  Susan  three  times 
that  he  had  seen  Mrs.  Johnson  a  few  evenings 
before.  He  now  and  then  addressed  Frederica, 
but  more  frequently  her  mother.  The  poor  girl 
sat  all  this  time  without  opening  her  lips  —  her 
eyes  cast  down,  and  her  color  varying  every  in- 
stant; while  Reginald  observed  all  that  passed  in 
perfect  silence.  At  length  Lady  Susan,  weary, 
I  believe,  of  her  situation,  proposed  walking;  and 
we  left  the  two  gentlemen  together,  to  put  on  our 
pelisses.  As  we  went  upstairs  Lady  Susan  begged 
permission  to  attend  me  for  a  few  moments  in  my 
dressing-room,  as  she  was  anxious  to  speak  with 
me  in  private.  I  led  her  thither  accordingly,  and 
as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  she  said:  "I  was 
never  more  surprised  in  my  life  than  by  Sir 
James's  arrival,  and  the  suddenness  of  it  requires 
some  apology  to  you,  my  dear  sister;  though  to 
me,  as  a  mother,  it  is  highly  flattering.  He  is  so 
extremely  attached  to  my  daughter  that  he  could 
not  exist  longer  without  seeing  her.  Sir  James  is 
a  young  man  of  an  amiable  disposition  and  excellent 
character;  a  little  too  much  of  the  rattle,  perhaps, 
but  a  year  or  two  will  rectify  that :  and  he  is  in 
other  respects  so  very  eligible  a  match  for  Fred- 
erica,  that  I  have  always  observed  his  attachment 
with  the  greatest  pleasure ;  and  am  persuaded  that 
you  and  my  brother  will  give  the  alliance  your 
hearty  approbation.  I  have  never  before  mentioned 


50  LADY  SUSAN. 

the  likelihood  of  its  taking  place  to  any  one,  because 
I  thought  that  whilst  Frederica  continued  at  school 
it  had  better  not  be  known  to  exist;  but  now,  as  I 
am  convinced  that  Frederica  is  too  old  ever  to  sub- 
mit to  school  confinement,  and  have  therefore 
begun  to  consider  her  union  with  Sir  James  as  not 
very  distant,  I  had  intended  within  a  few  days  to 
acquaint  yourself  and  Mr.  Vernon  with  the  whole 
business.  I  am  sure,  my  dear  sister,  you  will  ex- 
cuse my  remaining  silent  so  long,  and  agree  with 
me  that  such  circumstances,  while  they  continue 
from  any  cause  in  suspense,  cannot  be  too  cau- 
tiously concealed.  When  you  have  the  happiness 
of  bestowing  your  sweet  little  Catherine,  some 
years  hence,  on  a  man  who  in  connection  and 
character  is  alike  unexceptionable,  you  will  know 
what  I  feel  now;  though,  thank  Heaven,  you  can- 
not have  all  my  reasons  for  rejoicing  in  such  an 
event.  Catherine  will  be  amply  provided  for,  and 
not,  like  my  Frederica,  indebted  to  a  fortunate 
establishment  for  the  comforts  of  life."  She  con- 
cluded by  demanding  my  congratulations.  I  gave 
them  somewhat  awkwardly,  I  believe;  for,  in  fact, 
the  sudden  disclosure  of  so  important  a  matter 
took  from  me  the  power  of  speaking  with  any 
clearness.  She  thanked  me,  however,  most  affec- 
tionately, for  my  kind  concern  in  the  welfare  of 
herself  and  daughter;  and  then  said:  "lam  not 
apt  to  deal  in  professions,  my  dear  Mrs.  Vernon, 
and  I  never  had  the  convenient  talent  of  affecting 
sensations  foreign  to  my  heart;  and  therefore  I 
trust  you  will  believe  me  when  I  declare  that 
much  as  I  had  heard  in  your  praise  before  I  knew 


LADY  SUSAN.  51 

you,  I  had  no  idea  that  I  should  ever  love  you  as  I 
now  do;  and  I  must  further  say  that  your  friend- 
ship towards  me  is  more  particularly  gratifying 
because  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  some  attempts 
were  made  to  prejudice  you  against  me.  I  only 
wish  that  they,  whoever  they  are  to  whom  I  am 
indebted  for  such  kind  intentions,  could  see  the 
terms  on  which  we  now  are  together,  and  under- 
stand the  real  affection  we  feel  for  each  other;  but 
I  will  not  detain  you  any  longer.  God  bless  you 
for  your  goodness  to  me  and  my  girl,  and  continue 
to  you  all  your  present  happiness."  What  can  one 
say  of  such  a  woman,  my  dear  mother?  Such 
earnestness,  such  solemnity  of  expression!  and  yet 
I  cannot  help  suspecting  the  truth  of  everything 
she  says.  As  for  Reginald,  I  believe  he  does  not 
know  what  to  make  of  the  matter.  When  Sir 
James  came,  he  appeared  all  astonishment  and 
perplexity;  the  folly  of  the  young  man  and  the 
confusion  of  Frederica  entirely  engrossed  him ;  and 
though  a  little  private  discourse  with  Lady  Susan 
has  since  had  its  effect,  he  is  still  hurt,  I  am  sure, 
at  her  allowing  of  such  a  man's  attentions  to  her 
daughter.  Sir  James  invited  himself  with  great 
composure  to  remain  here  a  few  days  —  hoped  we 
would  not  think  it  odd,  was  aware  of  its  being 
very  impertinent,  but  he  took  the  liberty  of  a  rela- 
tion; and  concluded  by  wishing,  with  a  laugh, 
that  he  might  be  really  one  very  soon.  Even  Lady 
Susan  seemed  a  little  disconcerted  by  this  forward- 
ness; in  her  heart  I  am  persuaded  she  sincerely 
wished  him  gone.  But  something  must  be  done 
for  this  poor  girl,  if  her  feelings  are  such  as  both  I 


52  LADY  SUSAN. 

and  her  uncle  believe  them  to  be.  She  must  not 
be  sacrificed  to  policy  or  ambition,  and  she  must 
not  be  left  to  suffer  from  the  dread  of  it.  The 
girl  whose  heart  can  distinguish  Reginald  de 
Courcy  deserves,  however  he  may  slight  her,  a 
better  fate  than  to  be  Sir  James  Martin's  wife. 
As  soon  as  I  can  get  her  alone,  I  will  discover  the 
real  truth;  but  she  seems  to  wish  to  avoid  me.  I 
hope  this  does  not  proceed  from  anything  wrong, 
and  that  I  shall  not  find  out  I  have  thought  too 
well  of  her.  Her  behavior  to  Sir  James  certainly 
speaks  the  greatest  consciousness  and  embarrass- 
ment, but  I  see  nothing  in  it  more  like  encour- 
agement. Adieu,  my  dear  mother. 
Yours,  etc. 

C.  VERNOX. 


XXL 

Miss  Vernon  to  Mr.  De  Courcy. 

SIR,  — I  hope  you  will  excuse  this  liberty;  I  am 
forced  upon  it  by  the  greatest  distress,  or  I  should 
be  ashamed  to  trouble  you.  I  am  very  miserable 
about  Sir  James  Martin,  and  have  no  other  way  in 
the  world  of  helping  myself  but  by  writing  to  you, 
for  I  am  forbidden  even  speaking  to  my  uncle  and 
aunt  on  the  subject;  and  this  being  the  case,  I  am 
afraid  my  applying  to  you  will  appear  no  better 
than  equivocation,  and  as  if  I  attended  to  the  letter 
and  not  the  spirit  of  mamma's  commands.  But  if 
you  do  not  take  my  part  and  persuade  her  to  break 
it  off,  I  shall  be  half  distracted,  for  I  cannot  bear 


LADY  SUSAN.  53 

him.  No  human  being  but  you  could  have  any 
chance  of  prevailing  with  her.  If  you  will,  there- 
fore, have  the  unspeakably  great  kindness  of  taking 
my  part  with  her,  and  persuading  her  to  send  Sir 
James  away,  I  shall  be  more  obliged  to  you  than  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  express.  I  always  disliked 
him  from  the  first:  it  is  not  a  sudden  fancy,  I  as- 
sure you,  sir;  I  always  thought  him  silly  and 
impertinent  and  disagreeable,  and  now  he  is  grown 
worse  than  ever.  I  would  rather  work  for  my  bread 
than  marry  him.  I  do  not  know  how  to  apologize 
enough  for  this  letter;  I  know  it  is  taking  so  great 
a  liberty.  I  am  aware  how  dreadfully  angry  it  will 
make  mamma,  but  I  remember  the  risk. 

I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

F.  S.  V. 

XXII. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs.  Johnson, 

CHURCHHILL 

THIS  is  insufferable!  My  dearest  friend,  I  was 
never  so  enraged  before,  and  must  relieve  myself 
by  writing  to  you,  who  I  know  will  enter  into  all 
my  feelings.  Who  should  come  on  Tuesday  but 
Sir  James  Martin!  Guess  my  astonishment  and 
vexation  —  for,  as  you  well  know,  I  never  wished 
him  to  be  seen  at  Churchhill.  What  a  pity  that 
you  should  not  have  known  his  intentions!  Not 
content  with  coming,  he  actually  invited  himself 
to  remain  here  a  few  days.  I  could  have  poisoned 
him !  I  made  the  best  of  it,  however,  and  told  my 


54  LADY  SUSAN. 

story  with  great  success  to  Mrs.  Vernon,  who, 
whatever  might  be  her  real  sentiments,  said  noth- 
ing in  opposition  to  mine.  I  made  a  point  also 
of  Frederica's  behaving  civilly  to  Sir  James,  and 
gave  her  to  understand  that  I  was  absolutely  de- 
termined on  her  marrying  him.  She  said  some- 
thing of  her  misery,  but  that  was  all.  I  have  for 
some  time  been  more  particularly  resolved  on  the 
match  from  seeing  the  rapid  increase  of  her  affec- 
tion for  Reginald,  and  from  not  feeling  secure  that 
a  knowledge  of  such  affection  might  not  in  the 
end  awaken  a  return.  Contemptible  as  a  regard 
founded  only  on  compassion  must  make  them  both 
in  my  eyes,  I  felt  by  no  means  assured  that  such 
might  not  be  the  consequence.  It  is  true  that 
Reginald  had  not  in  any  degree  grown  cool  towards 
me-,  but  yet  he  has  lately  mentioned  Frederica 
spontaneously  and  unnecessarily,  and  once  said 
something  in  praise  of  her  person.  He  was  all  as- 
tonishment at  the  appearance  of  my  visitor,  and  at 
first  observed  Sir  James  with  an  attention  which 
I  was  pleased  to  see  not  unmixed  with  jealousy; 
but  unluckily  it  was  impossible  for  me  really  to 
torment  him,  as  Sir  James,  though  extremely  gal- 
lant to  me,  very  soon  made  the  whole  party  under- 
stand that  his  heart  was  devoted  to  my  daughter. 
I  had  no  great  difficulty  in  convincing  De  Courcy. 
when  we  were  alone,  that  I  was  perfectly  justified, 
all  things  considered,  in  desiring  the  match-,  and 
the  whole  business  seemed  most  comfortably  ar- 
ranged. They  could  none  of  them  help  perceiving 
that  Sir  James  was  no  Solomon;  but  I  had  posi- 
tively forbidden  Frederica  complaining  to  Charles 


LADY  SUSAN.  55 

Vernon  or  his  wife,  and  they  had  therefore  no 
pretence  for  interference;  though  my  impertinent 
sister,  I  believe,  wanted  only  opportunity  for  doing 
so.  Everything,  however,  was  going  on  calmly 
and  quietly;  and  though  I  counted  the  hours  of 
Sir  James's  stay,  my  mind  was  entirely  satisfied 
with  the  posture  of  affairs.  Guess,  then,  what  I 
must  feel  at  the  sudden  disturbance  of  all  my 
schemes;  and  that,  too,  from  a  quarter  where  I 
had  least  reason  to  expect  it.  Reginald  came  this 
morning  into  my  dressing-room  with  a  very  un- 
usual solemnity  of  countenance,  and  after  some 
preface  informed  me  in  so  many  words  that  he 
wished  to  reason  with  me  on  the  impropriety  and 
unkindness  of  allowing  Sir  James  Martin  to  ad- 
dress my  daughter  contrary  to  her  inclinations.  I 
was  all  amazement.  When  I  found  that  he  was  not 
to  be  laughed  out  of  his  design,  I  calmly-  begged  an 
explanation,  and  desired  to  know  by  what  he  was 
impelled,  and  by  whom  commissioned  to  reprimand 
me.  He  then  told  me,  mixing  in  his  speech  a  few 
insolent  compliments  and  ill-timed  expressions  of 
tenderness,  to  which  I  listened  with  perfect  indif- 
ference, that  my  daughter  had  acquainted  him  with 
some  circumstances  concerning  herself,  Sir  James, 
and  me  which  had  given  him  great  uneasiness.  In 
short,  I  found  that  she  had  in  the  first  place  actu- 
ally written  to  him  to  request  his  interference,  and 
that,  on  receiving  her  letter,  he  had  conversed  with 
her  on  the  subject  of  it,  in  order  to  understand  the 
particulars,  and  to  assure  himself  of  her  real  wishes. 
I  have  not  a  doubt  but  that  the  girl  took  this  op- 
portunity of  making  downright  love  to  him.  I  am 


56  LADY  SUSAN. 

convinced  of  it  by  the  manner  in  which  he  spoke 
of  her.  Much  good  may  such  love  do  him !  I  shall 
ever  despise  the  man  who  can  he  gratified  by  the 
passion  which  he  never  wished  to  inspire,  nor  so- 
licited the  avowal  of.  I  shall  always  detest  them 
both.  He  can  have  no  true  regard  for  me,  or  he 
would  not  have  listened  to  her;  and  she,  with  her 
little  rebellious  heart  and  indelicate  feelings,  to 
throw  herself  into  the  protection  of  a  young  man 
with  whom  she  has  scarcely  ever  exchanged  two 
words  before !  I  am  equally  confounded  at  her  im- 
pudence and  his  credulity.  How  dared  he  believe 
what  she  told  him  in  my  disfavor!  Ought  he  not 
to  have  felt  assured  that  I  must  have  unanswerable 
motives  for  all  that  I  had  done?  Where  was  his 
reliance  on  my  sense  and  goodness  then?  Where 
the  resentment  which  true  love  would  have  dic- 
tated against  the  person  defaming  me,  — that  per- 
son, too,  a  chit,  a  child,  without  talent  or  educa- 
tion, whom  he  had  been  always  taught  to  despise? 
I  was  calm  for  some  time;  but  the  greatest  degree 
of  forbearance  may  be  overcome,  and  I  hope  I  was 
afterwards  sufficiently  keen.  He  endeavored,  long 
endeavored,  to  soften  my  resentment;  but  that 
woman  is  a  fool  indeed  who,  while  insulted  by  ac- 
cusation, can  be  worked  on  by  compliments.  At 
length  he  left  me,  as  deeply  provoked  as  myself; 
and  he  showed  his  anger  more.  I  was  quite  cool, 
but  he  gave  way  to  the  most  violent  indignation; 
I  may  therefore  expect  it  will  the  sooner  subside, 
and  perhaps  his  may  be  vanished  forever,  while 
mine  will  be  found  still  fresh  and  implacable.  He 
is  now  shut  up  in  his  apartment,  whither  I  heard 


LADY  SUSAN.  57 

him  go  on  leaving  mine.  How  unpleasant,  one 
would  think,  must  be  his  reflections!  hut  some 
people's  feelings  are  incomprehensible.  I  have 
not  yet  tranquillized  myself  enough  to  see  Frede- 
rica.  She  shall  not  soon  forget  the  occurrences  of 
this  day;  she  shall  find  that  she  has  poured  forth 
her  tender  tale  of  love  in  vain,  and  exposed  herself 
forever  to  the  contempt  of  the  whole  world,  and 
the  severest  resentment  of  her  injured  mother. 

Your  affectionate  S.  VERNON. 

XXIII. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL. 

LET  me  congratulate  you,  my  dearest  mother! 
The  affair  which  has  given  us  so  much  anxiety  is 
drawing  to  a  happy  conclusion.  Our  prospect  is 
most  delightful;  and  since  matters  have  now  taken 
so  favorable  a  turn,  I  am  quite  sorry  that  I  ever  im- 
parted my  apprehensions  to  you ;  for  the  pleasure 
of  learning  that  the  danger  is  over  is  perhaps 
dearly  purchased  by  all  that  you  have  previously 
suffered.  I  am  so  much  agitated  by  delight  that  I 
can  scarcely  hold  a  pen;  but  am  determined  to 
send  you  a  few  short  lines  by  James,  that  you  may 
have  some  explanation  of  what  must  so  greatly 
astonish  you  as  that  Keginald  should  be  returning 
to  Parklands.  I  was  sitting  about  half  an  hour  ago 
with  Sir  James  in  the  breakfast-parlor,  when  my 
brother  called  me  out  of  the  room.  I  instantly  saw 
that  something  was  the  matter;  his  complexion 
was  raised,  and  he  spoke  with  great  emotion;  you 


58  LADY  SUSAN. 

know  his  eager  manner,  my  dear  mother,  when 
his  mind  is  interested.  "  Catherine,"  said  he,  "I 
am  going  home  to-day;  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you, 
but  I  must  go :  it  is  a  great  while  since  I  have  seen 
my  father  and  mother.  I  am  going  to  send  James 
forward  with  my  hunters  immediately ;  if  you  have 
any  letter,  therefore,  he  can  take  it.  I  shall  not 
be  at  home  myself  till  Wednesday  or  Thurs  day,  as 
I  shall  go  through  London,  where  I  have  business ; 
but  before  I  leave  you, "  he  continued,  speaking  in 
a  lower  tone,  and  with  still  greater  energy,  "I 
must  warn  you  of  one  thing,  —  do  not  let  Frederica 
Vernon  be  made  unhappy  by  that  Martin.  He 
wants  to  marry  her;  her  mother  promotes  the 
match,  but  she  cannot  endure  the  idea  of  it.  Be 
assured  that  I  speak  from  the  fullest  conviction  of 
the  truth  of  what  I  say;  I  know  that  Frederica  is 
made  wretched  by  Sir  James's  continuing  here. 
She  is  a  sweet  girl,  and  deserves  a  better  fate. 
Send  him  away  immediately;  he  is  only  a  fool:  but 
what  her  mother  can  mean,  Heaven  only  knows! 
Grood-by,;;  he  added,  shaking  my  hand  with  ear- 
nestness, "I  do  not  know  when  you  will  see  me 
again ;  but  remember  what  I  tell  you  of  Frederica ; 
you  must  make  it  your  business  to  see  justice  done 
her.  She  is  an  amiable  girl,  and  has  a  very 
superior  mind  to  what  we  have  given  her  credit 
for."  He  then  left  me,  and  ran  upstairs.  I  would 
not  try  to  stop  him,  for  I  know  what  his  feelings 
must  be.  The  nature  of  mine,  as  I  listened  to  him, 
I  need  not  attempt  to  describe;  for  a  minute  or  two 
I  remained  in  the  same  spot,  overpowered  by  wonder 
of  a  most  agreeable  sort  indeed;  yet  it  required 


LADY  SUSAN.  59 

some  consideration  to  be  tranquilly  happy.  In  about 
ten  minutes  after  my  return  to  the  parlor  Lady 
Susan  entered  the  room.  I  concluded,  of  course, 
that  she  and  Reginald  had  been  quarrelling,  and 
looked  with  anxious  curiosity  for  a  confirmation  of 
my  belief  in  her  face.  Mistress  of  deceit,  however, 
she  appeared  perfectly  unconcerned,  and  after 
chatting  on  indifferent  subjects  for  a  short  time, 
said  to  me,  "  I  find  from  Wilson  that  we  are  going 
to  lose  Mr.  De  Courcy,  —  is  it  true  that  he  leaves 
Churchhill  this  morning?  "  I  replied  that  it  was. 
"He  told  us  nothing  of  all  this  last  night,"  said 
she,  laughing,  "  or  even  this  morning  at  breakfast ; 
but  perhaps  he  did  not  know  it  himself.  Young 
men  are  often  hasty  in  their  resolutions,  and  not 
more  sudden  in  forming  than  unsteady  in  keeping 
them.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were  to 
change  his  mind  at  last,  and  not  go."  She  soon 
afterwards  left  the  room.  I  trust,  however,  my 
dear  mother,  that  we  have  no  reason  to  fear  an 
alteration  of  his  present  plan;  things  have  gone 
too  far.  They  must  have  quarrelled,  and  about 
Frederica  too.  Her  calmness  astonishes  me. 
What  delight  will  be  yours  in  seeing  him  again, 
in  seeing  him  still  worthy  your  esteem,  still 
capable  of  forming  your  happiness !  When  I  next 
write  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  that  Sir  James  is 
gone,  Lady  Susan  vanquished,  and  Frederica  at 
peace.  We  have  much  to  do,  but  it  shall  be  done. 
I  am  all  impatience  to  hear  how  this  astonishing 
change  was  effected.  I  finish  as  I  began  with  the 
warmest  congratulations. 

Yours  ever,  etc.,  CATH.  VERNON. 


60  LADY  SUSAN. 


XXIV. 

From  the  same  to  the  same. 

CHTJRCHHILL. 

LITTLE  did  I  imagine,  niy  dear  mother,  when  I 
sent  off  my  last  letter,  that  the  delightful  pertur- 
bation of  spirits  I  was  then  in  would  undergo 
so  speedy,  so  melancholy  a  reverse.  I  never  can 
sufficiently  regret  that  I  wrote  to  you  at  all.  Yet 
who  could  have  foreseen  what  has  happened?  My 
dear  mother,  every  hope  which  made  me  so  happy 
only  two  hours  ago  has  vanished.  The  quarrel 
between  Lady  Susan  and  Reginald  is  made  up,  and 
we  are  all  as  we  were  before.  One  point  only  is 
gained.  Sir  James  Martin  is  dismissed.  What 
are  we  now  to  look  forward  to?  I  am  indeed 
disappointed;  Reginald  was  all  but  gone,  his  horse 
was  ordered  and  all  but  brought  to  the  door;  who 
would  not  have  felt  safe?  For  half  an  hour  I  was 
in  momentary  expectation  of  his  departure.  After 
I  had  sent  off  my  letter  to  you,  I  went  to  Mr. 
Vernon,  and  sat  with  him  in  his  room  talking  over 
the  whole  matter,  and  then  determined  to  look  for 
Frederica,  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  breakfast. 
I  met  her  on  the  stairs,  and  saw  that  she  was  cry- 
ing. "  My  dear  aunt,"  said  she,  "  he  is  going  — 
Mr.  De  Courcy  is  going,  and  it  is  all  my  fault.  I 
am  afraid  you  will  be  very  angry  with  me,  but  in- 
deed I  had  no  idea  it  would  end  so. ' '  "  My  love, ' ;  I 
replied,  "  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  apologize  to 
me  on  that  account.  I  shall  feel  myself  under  an 
obligation  to  any  one  who  is  the  means  of  sending 


LADY  SUSAN.  61 

my  brother  home,  because,"  recollecting  myself,  "  I 
know  my  father  wants  very  much  to  see  him.  But 
what  is  it  you  have  done  to  occasion  all  this?  M 
She  blushed  deeply  as  she  answered:  "I  was  so 
unhappy  about  Sir  James  that  I  could  not  help  — 
I  have  done  something  very  wrong,  I  know;  but 
you  have  not  an  idea  of  the  misery  I  have  been  in : 
and  mamma  had  ordered  me  never  to  speak  to  you  or 
my  uncle  about  it,  and  —  "  "  You  therefore  spoke 
to  my  brother  to  engage  his  interference,77  said  I, 
to  save  her  the  explanation.  "No;  but  I  wrote 
to  him,  —  I  did  indeed,  I  got  up  this  morning 
before  it  was  light,  and  was  two  hours  about  it; 
and  when  my  letter  was  done  I  thought  I  never 
should  have  courage  to  give  it.  After  breakfast, 
however,  as  I  was  going  to  my  room,  I  met  him 
in  the  passage,  and  then,  as  I  knew  that  every- 
thing must  depend  on  that  moment,  I  forced  my- 
self to  give  it.  He  was  so  good  as  to  take  it 
immediately.  I  dared  not  look  at  him,  and  ran 
away  directly.  I  was  in  such  a  fright  I  could 
hardly  breathe.  My  dear  aunt,  you  do  not  know 
how  miserable  I  have  been."  "Frederica,"  said  I, 
"you  ought  to  have  told  me  all  your  distresses. 
You  would  have  found  in  me  a  friend  al  ways  ready 
to  assist  you.  Do  you  think  that  your  uncle  or  I 
should  not  have  espoused  your  cause  as  warmly 
as  my  brother?  "  "Indeed,  I  did  not  doubt  your 
kindness,"  said  she,  coloring  again,  "but  I  thought 
Mr.  De  Courcy  could  do  anything  with  my  mother ; 
but  I  was  mistaken:  they  have  had  a  dreadful 
quarrel  about  it,  and  he  is  going  away.  Mamma 
will  never  forgive  me,  and  I  shall  be  worse  off  than 


62  LADY  SUSAN. 

ever."  "No,  you  shall  not,"  I  replied;  "in  such 
a  point  as  this  your  mother's  prohibition  ought 
not  to  have  prevented  your  speaking  to  me  on  the 
subject.  She  has  no  right  to  make  you  unhappy, 
and  she  shall  not  do  it.  Your  applying,  however, 
to  Eeginald  can  be  productive  only  of  good  to  all 
parties.  I  believe  it  is  best  as  it  is.  Depend 
upon  it  that  you  shall  not  be  made  unhappy  any 
longer."  At  that  moment  how  great  was  my 
astonishment  at  seeing  Reginald  come  out  of 
Lady  Susan's  dressing-room.  My  heart  misgave 
me  instantly.  His  confusion  at  seeing  me  was 
very  evident.  Frederica  immediately  disappeared. 
"Are  you  going?"  I  said;  "you  will  find  Mr. 
Vernon  in  his  own  room."  "  No,  Catherine, "  he 
replied,  "I  am  not  going.  Will  you  let  me  speak 
to  you  a  moment?  "  We  went  into  my  room.  "  I 
find,"  he  continued,  his  confusion  increasing  as  he 
spoke,  "that  I  have  been  acting  with  my  usual 
foolish  impetuosity.  I  have  entirely  misunder- 
stood Lady  Susan,  and  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
the  house  under  a  false  impression  of  her  conduct. 
There  has  been  some  very  great  mistake :  we  have 
been  all  mistaken,  I  fancy.  Frederica  does  not 
know  her  mother.  Lady  Susan  means  nothing  but 
her  good,  but  she  will  not  make  a  friend  of  her. 
Lady  Susan  does  not  always  know,  therefore,  what 
will  make  her  daughter  happy.  Besides,  I  could 
have  no  right  to  interfere.  Miss  Vernon  was  mis- 
taken in  applying  to  me.  In  short,  Catherine, 
everything  has  gone  wrong,  but  it  is  now  all 
happily  settled.  Lady  Susan,  I  believe,  wishes  to 
speak  to  you  about  it,  if  you  are  at  leisure."  "  Cer- 


LADY  SUSAN.  63 

tainly,"  I  replied,  deeply  sighing  at  the  recital  of 
so  lame  a  story.  I  made  no  comments,  however, 
for  words  would  have  been  vain. 

Reginald  was  glad  to  get  away;  and  I  went  to 
Lady  Susan,  curious,  indeed,  to  hear  her  account 
of  it.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  said  she,  with  a 
smile,  "  that  your  brother  would  not  leave  us  after 
all?  "  "  You  did,  indeed, "  replied  I,  very  gravely ; 
"but  I  flattered  myself  you  would  be  mistaken." 
"I  should  not  have  hazarded  such  an  opinion," 
returned  she,  "if  it  had  not  at  that  moment 
occurred  to  me  that  his  resolution  of  going  might 
be  occasioned  by  a  conversation  in  which  we  had 
been  this  morning  engaged,  and  which  had  ended 
very  much  to  his  dissatisfaction,  from  our  not 
rightly  understanding  each  other's  meaning.  This 
idea  struck  me  at  the  moment,  and  I  instantly  de- 
termined that  an  accidental  dispute,  in  which  I 
might  probably  be  as  much  to  blame  as  himself, 
should  not  deprive  you  of  your  brother.  If  you 
remember,  I  left  the  room  almost  immediately.  I 
was  resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  clearing  up  those 
mistakes  as  far  as  I  could.  The  case  was  this  — 
Frederica  had  set  herself  violently  against  marry- 
ing Sir  James."  "  And  can  your  ladyship  wonder 
that  she  should?"  cried  I,  with  some  warmth; 
"  Frederica  has  an  excellent  understanding,  and 
Sir  James  has  none."  "I  am  at  least  very  far 
from  regretting  it,  my  dear  sister,"  said  she;  "on 
the  contrary,  I  am  grateful  for  so  favorable  a  sign 
of  my  daughter's  sense.  Sir  James  is  certainly 
below  par  (his  boyish  manners  make  him  appear 
worse);  and  had  Frederica  possessed  the  penetra- 


64  LADY  SUSAN. 

tion  and  the  abilities  which  I  could  have  wished 
in  my  daughter,  or  had  I  even  known  her  to  pos- 
sess as  much  as  she  does,  I  should  not  have  heen 
anxious  for  the  match."  "It  is  odd  that  you 
should  alone  be  ignorant  of  your  daughter's  sense !  " 
"Frederica  never  does  justice  to  herself;  her  man- 
ners are  shy  and  childish,  and  besides  she  is  afraid 
of  me.  During  her  poor  father's  life  she  was  a 
spoilt  child;  the  severity  which  it  has  since  been 
necessary  for  me  to  show  has  alienated  her  affec- 
tion ;  neither  has  she  any  of  that  brilliancy  of  in- 
tellect, that  genius  or  vigor  of  mind  which  will 
force  itself  forward."  "  Say  rather  that  she  has 
been  unfortunate  in  her  education!  "  " Heaven 
knows,  my  dearest  Mrs.  Vernon,  how  fully  I  am 
aware  of  that;  but  I  would  wish  to  forget  every 
circumstance  that  might  throw  blame  on  the 
memory  of  one  whose  name  is  sacred  with  me." 
Here  she  pretended  to  cry ;  I  was  out  of  patience 
with  her.  "But  what,"  said  I,  "was  your  lady- 
ship going  to  tell  me  about  your  disagreement  with 
my  brother? "  "It  originated  in  an  action  of  my 
daughter's  which  equally  marks  her  want  of  judg- 
ment and  the  unfortunate  dread  of  me  I  have  been 
mentioning,  — she  wrote  to  Mr.  De  Courcy."  "I 
know  she  did;  you  had  forbidden  her  speaking  to 
Mr.  Vernon  or  to  me  on  the  cause  of  her  distress ; 
what  could  she  do,  therefore,  but  apply  to  my 
brother?  "  "  Good  God!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  what 
an  opinion  you  must  have  of  me!  Can  you  pos- 
sibly suppose  that  I  was  aware  of  her  unhappiness, 
that  it  was  my  object  to  make  my  own  child  miser- 
able, and  that  I  had  forbidden  her  speaking  to  you 


LADY  SUSAN.  65 

on  the  subject  from  fear  of  your  interrupting  the 
diabolical  scheme?  Do  you  think  me  destitute  of 
every  honest,  every  natural  feeling?  Am  I  capable 
of  consigning  her  to  everlasting  misery  whose  wel- 
fare it  is  my  first  earthly  duty  to  promote?  The 
idea  is  horrible !"  "What,  then,  was  your  inten- 
tion when  you  insisted  on  her  silence?"  "  Of 
what  use,  my  dear  sister,  could  be  any  application 
to  you,  however  the  affair  might  stand?  Why 
should  I  subject  you  to  entreaties  which  I  refused 
to  attend  to  myself?  Neither  for  your  sake  nor 
for  hers  nor  for  my  own,  could  such  a  thing  be 
desirable.  When  my  own  resolution  was  taken, 
I  could  not  wish  for  the  interference,  however 
friendly,  of  another  person.  I  was  mistaken,  it 
is  true,  but  I  believed  myself  right."  "  But  what 
was  this  mistake  to  which  your  ladyship  so  often 
alludes?  from  whence  arose  so  astonishing  a  mis- 
conception of  your  daughter's  feelings?  Did  you 
not  know  that  she  disliked  Sir  James?  "  "I  knew 
that  he  was  not  absolutely  the  man  she  would  have 
chosen,  but  I  was  persuaded  that  her  objections  to 
him  did  not  arise  from  any  perception  of  his  defi- 
ciency. You  must  not  question  me,  however,  my 
dear  sister,  too  minutely  on  this  point,"  continued 
she,  taking  me  affectionately  by  the  hand;  "I 
honestly  own  that  there  is  something  to  conceal. 
Frederica  makes  me  very  unhappy !  Her  applying 
to  Mr.  De  Courcy  hurt  me  particularly."  "What 
is  it  you  mean  to  infer,"  said  I,  "  by  this  appear- 
ance of  mystery?  If  you  think  your  daughter  at 
all  attached  to  Reginald,  her  objecting  to  Sir 
James  could  not  less  deserve  to  be  attended  to 


66  LADY   SUSAN. 

than  if  the  cause  of  her  objecting  had  been  a  con- 
sciousness of  his  folly;  and  why  should  your  lady- 
ship, at  any  rate,  quarrel  with  my  brother  for  an 
interference  which  you  must  know  it  is  not  in  his 
nature  to  refuse  when  urged  in  such  a  manner?  " 

"  His  disposition,  you  know,  is  warm,  and  he- 
came  to  expostulate  with  me;  his  compassion  all 
alive  for  this  ill-used  girl,  this  heroine  in  distress ! 
We  misunderstood  each  other:  he  believed  me 
more  to  blame  than  I  really  was ;  I  considered  his 
interference  less  excusable  than  I  now  find  it.  I 
have  a  real  regard  for  him,  and  was  beyond  ex- 
pression mortified  to  find  it,  as  I  thought,  so  ill 
bestowed.  We  were  both  warm,  and  of  course  both 
to  blame.  His  resolution  of  leaving  Churchhill  is 
consistent  with  his  general  eagerness.  When  I 
understood  his  intention,  however,  and  at  the  same 
time  began  to  think  that  we  had  been  perhaps 
equally  mistaken  in  each  other's  meaning,  I  re- 
solved to  have  an  explanation  before  it  was  too 
late.  For  any  member  of  your  family  I  must 
always  feel  a  degree  of  affection,  and  I  own  it 
would  have  sensibly  hurt  me  if  my  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  De  Courcy  had  ended  so  gloomily.  I 
have  now  only  to  say,  further,  that  as  I  am  con- 
vinced of  Frederica's  having  a  reasonable  dislike 
to  Sir  James,  I  shall  instantly  inform  him  that  he 
must  give  up  all  hope  of  her.  I  reproach  myself 
for  having  even,  though  innocently,  made  her  un- 
happy on  that  score.  She  shall  have  all  the  retri- 
bution in  my  power  to  make ;  if  she  value  her  own 
happiness  as  much  as  I  do,  if  she  judge  wisely, 
and  command  herself  as  she  ought,  she  may  now 


LADY  SUSAN;  67 

be  easy.  Excuse  me,  my  dearest  sister,  for  thus 
trespassing  on  your  time,  but  I  owe  it  to  my  own 
character;  and  after  this  explanation  I  trust  I  am 
in  no  danger  of  sinking  in  your  opinion."  I  could 
hare  said,  "Not  much,  indeed!  "  but  I  left  her 
almost  in  silence.  It  was  the  greatest  stretch  of 
forbearance  I  could  practise.  I  could  not  have 
stopped  myself  had  I  begun.  Her  assurance !  her 
deceit!  but  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  dwell  on 
them ;  they  will  strike  you  sufficiently.  My  heart 
sickens  within  me.  As  soon  as  I  was  tolerably 
composed  I  returned  to  the  parlor.  Sir  James's 
carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  he,  merry  as  usual, 
soon  afterwards  took  his  leave.  How  easily  does 
her  ladyship  encourage  or  dismiss  a  lover!  In 
spite  of  this  release,  Frederica  still  looks  unhappy : 
still  fearful,  perhaps,  of  her  mother's  anger;  and 
though  dreading  my  brother's  departure,  jealous, 
it  may  be,  of  his  staying.  I  see  how  closely  she 
observes  him  and  Lady  Susan,  poor  girl !  I  have 
now  no  hope  for  her.  There  is  not  a  chance  of  her 
affection  being  returned.  He  thinks  very  differ- 
ently of  her  from  what  he  used  to  do;  he  does  her 
some  justice,  but  his  reconciliation  with  her 
mother  precludes  every  dearer  hope.  Prepare,  my 
dear  mother,  for  the  worst!  The  probability  of 
their  marrying  is  surely  heightened!  He  is  more 
securely  hers  than  ever.  When  that  wretched 
event  takes  place,  Frederica  must  belong  wholly 
to  us.  I  am  thankful  that  my  last  letter  will  pre- 
cede this  by  so  little,  as  every  moment  that  you 
can  be  saved  from  feeling  a  joy  which  leads  only 
to  disappointment  is  of  consequence. 

Yours  ever,  etc.,  CATHERINE  VERNON 


68  LADY  SUSAN. 


XXV. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

CHURCHHILL. 

I  CALL  on  you,  dear  Alicia,  for  congratulations : 
I  am  my  own  self,  gay  and  triumphant !  When  I 
wrote  to  you  the  other  day  I  was,  in  truth,  in  high 
irritation,  and  with  ample  cause.  Nay,  I  know 
not  whether  I  ought  to  be  quite  tranquil  now,  for 
I  have  had  more  trouble  in  restoring  peace  than  I 
ever  intended  to  submit  to,  —  a  spirit,  too,  result- 
ing from  a  fancied  sense  of  superior  integrity, 
which  is  peculiarly  insolent!  I  shall  not  easily 
forgive  him,  I  assure  you.  He  was  actually  on 
the  point  of  leaving  Churchhill!  I  had  scarcely 
concluded  my  last,  when  Wilson  brought  me  word 
of  it.  I  found,  therefore,  that  something  must  be 
done ;  for  I  did  not  choose  to  leave  my  character  at 
the  mercy  of  a  man  whose  passions  are  so  violent 
and  so  revengeful.  It  would  have  been  trifling 
with  my  reputation  to  allow  of  his  departing  with 
such  an  impression  in  my  disfavor;  in  this  light, 
condescension  was  necessary.  I  sent  Wilson  to 
say  that  I  desired  to  speak  with  him  before  he 
went;  he  came  immediately.  The  angry  emotions 
which  had  marked  every  feature  when  we  last 
parted  were  partially  subdued.  He  seemed  aston- 
ished at  the  summons,  and  looked  as  if  half  wish- 
ing and  half  fearing  to  be  softened  by  what  I 
might  say.  If  my  countenance  expressed  what  I 
aimed  at,  it  was  composed  and  dignified,  and  yet 


LADY  SUSAN.  69 

with  a  degree  of  pensiveness  which  might  convince 
him  that  I  was  not  quite  happy.  "I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  for  the  liberty  I  have  taken  in  sending 
for  you,"  said  I;  "but  as  I  have  just  learnt  your 
intention  of  leaving  this  place  to-day,  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  entreat  that  you  will  not  on  my  account 
shorten  your  visit  here  even  an  hour.  I  am  per- 
fectly aware  that  after  what  has  passed  between  us 
it  would  ill  suit  the  feelings  of  either  to  remain 
longer  in  the  same  house :  so  very  great,  so  total  a 
change  from  the  intimacy  of  friendship  must  ren- 
der any  future  intercourse  the  severest  punish- 
ment; and  your  resolution  of  quitting  Churchhill 
is  undoubtedly  in  unison  with  our  situation,  and 
with  those  lively  feelings  which  I  know  you  to 
possess.  But  at  the  same  time  it  is  not  for  me  to 
suffer  such  a  sacrifice  as  it  must  be  to  leave  rela- 
tions to  whom  you  are  so  much  attached  and  are 
so  dear.  My  remaining  here  cannot  give  that 
pleasure  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vernon  which  your  soci- 
ety must ;  and  my  visit  has  already  perhaps  been 
too  long.  My  removal,  therefore,  which  must  at 
any  rate  take  place  soon,  may  with  perfect  con- 
venience be  hastened ;  and  I  make  it  my  particular 
request  that  I  may  not  in  any  way  be  instrumental 
in  separating  a  family  so  affectionately  attached  to 
each  other.  Where  I  go  is  of  no  consequence  to 
any  one;  of  very  little  to  myself;  but  you  are  of 
importance  to  all  your  connections/7  Here  I  con- 
cluded, and  I  hope  you  will  be  satisfied  with  my 
speech.  Its  effect  on  Reginald  justifies  some  por- 
tion of  vanity,  for  it  was  no  less  favorable  than  in- 
stantaneous. Oh,  how  delightful  it  was  to  watch 


70  LADY  SUSAN. 

the  variations  of  his  countenance  while  I  spoke,  — 
to  see  the  struggle  between  returning  tenderness  and 
the  remains  of  displeasure!  There  is  something 
agreeable  in  feelings  so  easily  worked  on ;  not  that 
I  envy  him  their  possession,  nor  would,  for  the 
world,  have  such  myself;  but  they  are  very  con- 
venient when  one  wishes  to  influence  the  passions 
of  another.  And  yet  this  Eeginald,  whom  a  very 
few  words  from  me  softened  at  once  into  the  ut- 
most submission,  and  rendered  more  tractable, 
more  attached,  more  devoted  than  ever,  would  have 
left  me  in  the  first  angry  swelling  of  his  proud 
heart  without  deigning  to  seek  an  explanation. 
Humbled  as  he  now  is,  I  cannot  forgive  him  such 
an  instance  of  pride,  and  am  doubtful  whether  I 
ought  not  to  punish  him  by  dismissing  him  at  once 
after  this  reconciliation,  or  by  marrying  and  teas- 
ing him  forever.  But  these  measures  are  each  too 
violent  to  be  adopted  without  some  deliberation; 
at  present  my  thoughts  are  fluctuating  between 
various  schemes.  I  have  many  things  to  compass : 
I  must  punish  Frederica,  and  pretty  severely  too, 
for  her  application  to  Reginald;  I  must  punish 
him  for  receiving  it  so  favorably,  and  for  the  rest 
of  his  conduct.  I  must  torment  my  sister-in-law 
for  the  insolent  triumph  of  her  look  and  manner 
since  Sir  James  has  been  dismissed;  for  in  recon- 
ciling Reginald  to  me,  I  was  not  able  to  save  that 
ill-fated  young  man;  and  I  must  make  myself 
amends  for  the  humiliation  to  which  I  have  stooped 
within  these  few  days.  To  effect  all  this  I  have 
various  plans.  I  have  also  an  idea  of  being  soon 
in  town;  and  whatever  may  be  my  determination 


LADY  SUSAN.  71 

as  to  the  rest,  I  shall  probably  put  that  project  in 
execution;  for  London  will  be  always  the  fairest 
field  of  action,  however  my  views  may  be  directed; 
and  at  any  rate  I  shall  there  be  rewarded  by  your 
society,  and  a  little  dissipation,  for  a  ten  weeks' 
penance  at  Churchhill.  I  believe  I  owe  it  to 
my  character  to  complete  the  match  between  my 
daughter  and  Sir  James  after  having  so  long 
intended  it.  Let  me  know  your  opinion  on  this 
point.  Flexibility  of  mind,  a  disposition  easily 
biased  by  others,  is  an  attribute  which  you  know 
I  am  not  very  desirous  of  obtaining;  nor  has 
Frederica  any  claim  to  the  indulgence  of  her  no- 
tions at  the  expense  of  her  mother's  inclinations. 
Her  idle  love  for  Reginald,  too !  It  is  surely  my 
duty  to  discourage  such  romantic  nonsense.  All 
things  considered,  therefore,  it  seems  incumbent 
on  me  to  take  her  to  town  and  marry  her  immedi- 
ately to  Sir  James.  When  my  own  will  is  effected 
contrary  to  his,  I  shall  have  some  credit  in  being 
on  good  terms  with  Reginald,  which  at  present, 
in  fact,  I  have  not ;  for  though  he  is  still  in  my 
power,  I  have  given  up  the  very  article  by  which 
our  quarrel  was  produced,  and  at  best  the  honor  of 
victory  is  doubtful.  Send  me  your  opinion  on  all 
these  matters,  my  dear  Alicia,  and  let  me  know 
whether  you  can  get  lodgings  to  suit  me  within  a 
short  distance  of  you. 

Your  most  attached 

S.  VEBNON, 


72  LADY  SUSAN. 


XXVI. 

Mrs.  Johnson  to  Lady  Susan. 

EDWARD  STREET. 

I  AM  gratified  by  your  reference,  and  this  is  my 
advice:  that  you  come  to  town  yourself,  without 
loss  of  time,  but  that  you  leave  Frederica  behind. 
It  would  surely  be  much  more  to  the  purpose  to 
get  yourself  well  established  by  marrying  Mr. 
De  Courcy,  than  to  irritate  him  and  the  rest  of 
his  family  by  making  her  marry  Sir  James.  You 
should  think  more  of  yourself  and  less  of  your 
daughter.  She  is  not  of  a  disposition  to  do  you 
credit  in  the  world,  and  seems  precisely  in  her 
proper  place  at  Churchhill,  with  the  Vernons. 
But  you  are  fitted  for  society,  and  it  is  shameful 
to  have  you  exiled  from  it.  Leave  Frederica, 
therefore,  to  punish  herself  for  the  plague  she  has 
given  you,  by  indulging  that  romantic  tender- 
heartedness which  will  always  insure  her  misery 
enough,  and  come  to  London  as  soon  as  you  can. 
I  have  another  reason  for  urging  this:  Mainwar- 
ing  came  to  town  last  week,  and  has  contrived,  in 
spite  of  Mr.  Johnson,  to  make  opportunities  of 
seeing  me.  He  is  absolutely  miserable  about  you, 
and  jealous  to  such  a  degree  of  De  Courcy  that  it 
would  be  highly  unadvisable  for  them  to  meet  at 
present.  And  yet,  if  you  do  not  allow  him  to 
see  you  here,  I  cannot  answer  for  his  not  commit- 
ting some  great  imprudence,  — such  as  going  to 
Churchhill,  for  instance,  which  would  be  dreadful ! 


LADY  SUSAN.  73 

Besides,  if  you  take  my  advice,  and  resolve  to 
marry  De  Courcy,  it  will  be  indispensably  neces- 
sary to  you  to  get  Mainwaring  out  of  the  way; 
and  you  only  can  have  influence  enough  to  send 
him  back  to  his  wife.  I  have  still  another  motive 
for  your  coming:  Mr.  Johnson  leaves  London 
next  Tuesday;  he  is  going  for  his  health  to  Bath, 
where,  if  the  waters  are  favorable  to  his  consti- 
tution and  my  wishes,  he  will  be  laid  up  with  the 
gout  many  weeks.  During  his  absence  we  shall  be 
able  to  choose  our  own  society,  and  to  have  true 
enjoyment.  I  would  ask  you  to  Edward  Street, 
but  that  once  he  forced  from  me  a  kind  of  promise 
never  to  invite  you  to  my  house ;  nothing  but  my 
being  in  the  utmost  distress  for  money  should 
have  extorted  it  from  me.  I  can  get  you,  how- 
ever, a  nice  drawing-room  apartment  in  Upper 
Seymour  Street,  and  we  may  be  always  together 
there  or  here;  for  I  consider  my  promise  to  Mr. 
Johnson  as  comprehending  only  (at  least  in  his 
absence)  your  not  sleeping  in  the  house.  Poor 
Mainwaring  gives  me  such  histories  of  his  wife's 
jealousy.  Silly  woman  to  expect  constancy  from 
so  charming  a  man!  but  she  always  was  silly  — 
intolerably  so  in  marrying  him  at  all,  she  the 
heiress  of  a  large  fortune  and  he  without  a  shil- 
ling: one  title,  I  know,  she  might  have  had, 
besides  baronets.  Her  folly  in  forming  the  con- 
nection was  so  great  that  though  Mr.  Johnson 
was  her  guardian,  and  I  do  not  in  general  share 
his  feelings,  I  never  can  forgive  her. 
Adieu.  Yours  ever, 

ALICIA. 


74  LADY  SUSAN. 


XXVII. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL. 

THIS  letter,  my  dear  mother,  will  be  brought 
you  by  Reginald.  His  long  visit  is  about  to  be 
concluded  at  last,  but  I  fear  the  separation  takes 
place  too  late  to  do  us  any  good.  She  is  going  to 
London  to  see  her  particular  friend,  Mrs.  John- 
son. It  was  at  first  her  intention  that  Frederica 
should  accompany  her,  for  the  benefit  of  masters, 
but  we  overruled  her  there.  Frederica  was  wretched 
in  the  idea  of  going,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  have 
her  at  the  mercy  of  her  mother;  not  all  the  mas- 
ters in  London  could  compensate  for  the  ruin  of 
her  comfort.  I  should  have  feared,  too,  for  her 
health,  and  for  everything  but  her  principles,  — 
there  I  believe  she  is  not  to  be  injured  by  her 
mother,  or  her  mother's  friends;  but  with  those 
friends  she  must  have  mixed  (a  very  bad  set,  I 
doubt  not),  or  have  been  left  in  total  solitude, 
and  I  can  hardly  tell  which  would  have  been  worse 
for  her.  If  she  is  with  her  mother,  moreover,  she 
must,  alas!  in  all  probability  be  with  Reginald, 
and  that  would  be  the  greatest  evil  of  all.  Here 
we  shall  in  time  be  in  peace;  and  our  regular 
employments,  our  books  and  conversations,  with 
exercise,  the  children,  and  every  domestic  pleas- 
ure in  my  power  to  procure  her,  will,  I  trust, 
gradually  overcome  this  youthful  attachment.  I 
should  not  have  a  doubt  of  it  were  she  slighted  for 


LADY  SUSAN.  75 

any  other  woman  in  the  world  than  her  own 
mother.  How  long  Lady  Susan  will  be  in  town, 
or  whether  she  returns  here  again,  I  know  not. 
I  could  not  be  cordial  in  my  invitation;  but  if  she 
chooses  to  come,  no  want  of  cordiality  on  my  part 
will  keep  her  away.  I  could  not  help  asking 
Reginald  if  he  intended  being  in  London  this 
winter,  as  soon  as  I  found  her  ladyship's  steps 
would  be  bent  thither;  and  though  he  professed 
himself  quite  undetermined,  there  was  something 
in  his  look  and  voice  as  he  spoke  which  contra- 
dicted his  words.  I  have  done  with  lamenta- 
tion; I  look  upon  the  event  as  so  far  decided 
that  I  resign  myself  to  it  in  despair.  If  he 
leaves  you  soon  for  London,  everything  will  be 
concluded. 

Your  affectionate,  etc., 

C.  VERNON. 


XXVIII. 

Mrs.  Johnson  to  Lady  Susan. 

EDWABD  STREET. 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND,  —  I  write  in  the  greatest 
distress;  the  most  unfortunate  event  has  just  taken 
place.  Mr.  Johnson  has  hit  on  the  most  effectual 
manner  of  plaguing  us  all.  He  had  heard,  I 
imagine,  by  some  means  or  other,  that  you  were 
soon  to  be  in  London,  and  immediately  contrived 
to  have  such  an  attack  of  the  gout  as  must  at 
least  delay  his  journey  to  Bath,  if  not  wholly 
prevent  it.  I  am  persuaded  the  gout  is  brought 


76  LADY   SUSAN. 

on  or  kept  off  at  pleasure ;  it  was  the  same  when  I 
wanted  to  join  the  Hamiltons  to  the  Lakes ;  and 
three  years  ago,  when  I  had  a  fancy  for  Bath,  noth- 
ing could  induce  him  to  have  a  gouty  symptom. 

I  am  pleased  to  find  that  my  letter  had  so  much 
effect  on  you,  and  that  De  Courcy  is  certainly 
your  own.  Let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  you 
arrive,  and  in  particular  tell  me  what  you  mean 
to  do  with  Mainwaring.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
when  I  shall  be  able  to  come  to  you;  my  confine- 
ment must  be  great.  It  is  such  an  abominable 
trick  to  be  ill  here  instead  of  at  Bath  that  I  can 
scarcely  command  myself  at  all.  At  Bath  his 
old  aunts  would  have  nursed  him,  but  here  it  all 
falls  upon  me;  and  he  bears  pain  with  such  pa- 
tience that  I  have  not  the  common  excuse  for 
losing  my  temper. 

Yours  ever, 

ALICIA. 

XXIX. 


Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET. 

MY  DEAR  ALICIA,  —  There  needed  not  this 
last  fit  of  the  gout  to  make  me  detest  Mr.  John- 
son, but  now  the  extent  of  my  aversion  is  not  to 
be  estimated.  To  have  you  confined  as  nurse  in 
his  apartment!  My  dear  Alicia,  of  what  a  mis- 
take were  you  guilty  in  marrying  a  man  of  his 
age!  just  old  enough  to  be  formal,  ungovernable, 
and  to  have  the  gout ;  too  old  to  be  agreeable,  too 


LADY  SUSAN.  77 

young  to  die.  I  arrived  last  night  about  five,  had 
scarcely  swallowed  my  dinner  when  Mainwaring 
made  his  appearance.  I  will  not  dissemble  what 
real  pleasure  his  sight  afforded  me,  nor  how 
strongly  I  felt  the  contrast  between  his  person  and 
manners  and  those  of  Keginald,  to  the  infinite 
disadvantage  of  the  latter.  For  an  hour  or  two  I 
was  even  staggered  in  my  resolution  of  marrying 
him,  and  though  this  was  too  idle  and  nonsensi- 
cal an  idea  to  remain  long  on  my  mind,  I  do  not 
feel  very  eager  for  the  conclusion  of  my  marriage, 
nor  look  forward  with  much  impatience  to  the 
time  when  Reginald,  according  to  our  agreement, 
is  to  be  in  town.  I  shall  probably  put  off  his 
arrival  under  some  pretence  or  other.  He  must 
not  come  till  Mainwaring  is  gone.  I  am  still 
doubtful  at  times  as  to  marrying;  if  the  old  man 
would  die  I  might  not  hesitate,  but  a  state  of 
dependence  on  the  caprice  of  Sir  Reginald  will  not 
suit  the  freedom  of  my  spirit ;  and  if  I  resolve  to 
wait  for  that  event,  I  shall  have  excuse  enough  at 
present  in  having  been  scarcely  ten  months  a 
widow.  I  have  not  given  Mainwaring  any  hint 
of  my  intention,  or  allowed  him  to  consider  my 
acquaintance  with  Reginald  as  more  than  the 
commonest  flirtation,  and  he  is  tolerably  appeased. 
Adieu,  till  we  meet;  I  am  enchanted  with  my 
lodgings. 

Yours  ever, 

S.  VERNON. 


78  LADY  SUSAN. 


XXX. 

Lady  Susan  Vernon  to  Mr.  De  Courcy. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET. 

I  HAVE  received  your  letter,  and  though  I  do  not 
attempt  to  conceal  that  I  am  gratified  by  your  im- 
patience for  the  hour  of  meeting,  I  yet  feel  myself 
under  the  necessity  of  delaying  that  hour  beyond 
the  time  originally  fixed.  Do  not  think  me  un- 
kind for  such  an  exercise  of  my  power,  nor  accuse 
me  of  instability  without  first  hearing  my  reasons. 
In  the  course  of  my  journey  from  Churchhill  I  had 
ample  leisure  for  reflection  on  the  present  state  of 
our  affairs,  and  every  review  has  served  to  convince 
me  that  they  require  a  delicacy  and  cautiousness  of 
conduct  to  which  we  have  hitherto  been  too  little 
attentive.  We  have  been  hurried  on  by  our  feel- 
ings to  a  degree  of  precipitation  which  ill  accords 
with  the  claims  of  our  friends  or  the  opinion  of  the 
world.  We  have  been  unguarded  in  forming  this 
hasty  engagement,  but  we  must  not  complete  the 
imprudence  by  ratifying  it  while  there  is  so  much 
reason  to  fear  the  connection  would  be  opposed  by 
those  friends  on  whom  you  depend.  It  is  not  for 
us  to  blame  any  expectations  on  your  father's  side 
of  your  marrying  to  advantage ;  where  possessions 
are  so  extensive  as  those  of  your  family,  the  wish 
of  increasing  them,  if  not  strictly  reasonable,  is  too 
common  to  excite  surprise  or  resentment.  He 
has  a  right  to  require  a  woman  of  fortune  in  his 
daughter-in-law,  and  I  am  sometimes  quarrelling 
with  myself  for  suffering  you  to  form  a  connection 


LADY  SUSAN.  79 

so  imprudent;  but  the  influence  of  reason  is  often 
acknowledged  too  late  by  those  who  feel  like  me. 
I  have  now  been  but  a  few  months  a  widow,  and, 
however  little  indebted  to  my  husband's  memory 
for  any  happiness  derived  from  him  during  a  union 
of  some  years,  I  cannot  forget  that  the  indelicacy 
of  so  early  a  second  marriage  must  subject  me  to 
the  censure  of  the  world,  and  incur,  what  would 
be  still  more  insupportable,  the  displeasure  of  Mr. 
Vernon.     I  might  perhaps  harden  myself  in  time 
against  the  injustice  of  general  reproach,  but  the 
loss  of  his  valued  esteem  I  am,  as  you  well  know, 
ill-fitted  to  endure ;  and  when  to  this  may  be  added 
the  consciousness  of  having  injured  you  with  your 
family,   how  am  I  to  support  myself?     With  feel- 
ings so  poignant  as  mine,  the  conviction  of  having 
divided  the  son  from  his  parents  would  make  me, 
even  with  you,  the  most  miserable  of  beings.     It 
will   surely,   therefore,  be  advisable  to  delay  our 
union  —  to  delay  it  till  appearances  are  more  prom- 
ising —  till    affairs   have   taken  a  more  favorable 
turn.     To  assist  us  in  such  a  resolution  I  feel  that 
absence  will  be  necessary.     We  must  not  meet. 
Cruel  as  this  sentence  may  appear,  the  necessity 
of  pronouncing   it,  which  can  alone   reconcile  it 
to  myself,  will  be  evident  to  you  when  you  have 
considered  our  situation  in  the  light  in  which  I 
have  found  myself  imperiously  obliged  to  place  it. 
You  may  be  —  you  must  be  —  well  assured  that 
nothing  but  the  strongest  conviction  of  duty  could 
induce  me  to  wound  my  own   feelings  by  urging 
a  lengthened   separation,    and  of  insensibility  to 
yours  you  will  hardly  suspect  me.     Again,  there- 


80  LADY  SUSAN. 

fore,  I  say  that  we  ought  not,  we  must  not,  yet 
meet.  By  a  removal  for  some  months  from  each 
other  we  shall  tranquillize  the  sisterly  fears  of 
Mrs.  Vernon,  who,  accustomed  herself  to  the  en- 
joyment of  riches,  considers  fortune  as  necessary 
everywhere,  and  whose  sensibilities  are  not  of  a 
nature  to  comprehend  ours.  Let  me  hear  from  you 
soon  —  very  soon.  Tell  me  that  you  submit  to  my 
arguments,  and  do  not  reproach  me  for  using  such. 
I  cannot  bear  reproaches:  my  spirits  are  not  so 
high  as  to  need  being  repressed.  I  must  endeavor 
to  seek  amusement,  and  fortunately  many  of  my 
friends  are  in  town;  amongst  them  the  Mainwar- 
ings;  you  know  how  sincerely  I  regard  both  hus- 
band and  wife. 

I  am,  very  faithfully  yours, 

S.  VERNON. 

XXXI. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  That  tormenting  creature, 
Reginald,  is  here.  My  letter,  which  was  intended 
to  keep  him  longer  in  the  country,  has  hastened 
him  to  town.  Much  as  I  wish  him  away,  however, 
I  cannot  help  being  pleased  with  such  a  proof  of 
attachment.  He  is  devoted  to  me,  heart  and  soul. 
He  will  carry  this  note  himself,  which  is  to  serve 
as  an  introduction  to  you,  with  whom  he  longs  to 
be  acquainted.  Allow  him  to  spend  the  evening 
with  you,  that  I  may  be  in  no  danger  of  his  re- 
turning here.  I  have  told  him  that  I  am  not  quite 
well,  and  must  be  alone ;  and  should  he  call  again 


LADY  SUSAN.  81 

there  might  be  confusion,  for  it  is  impossible  to  be 
sure  of  servants.  Keep  him,  therefore,  I  entreat 
you,  in  Edward  Street.  You  will  not  find  him  a 
heavy  companion,  and  I  allow  you  to  flirt  with  him 
as,  much  as  you  like.  At  the  same  time  do  not 
forget  my  real  interest;  say  all  that  you  can  to 
convince  him  that  I  shall  be  quite  wretched  if  he 
remains  here ;  you  know  my  reasons,  —  propriety, 
and  so  forth.  I  would  urge  them  more  myself,  but 
that  I  am  impatient  to  be  rid  of  him,  as  Mainwar- 
ing  comes  within  half  an  hour.  Adieu ! 

S.  VERNON. 

XXXII. 

Mrs.  Johnson  to  Lady  Susan. 

EDWARD  STREET. 

MY  DEAR  CREATURE,  —  I  am  in  agonies,  and 
know  not  what  to  do.  Mr.  De  Courcy  arrived  just 
when  he  should  not.  Mrs.  Mainwaring  had  that  in- 
stant entered  the  house,  and  forced  herself  into  her 
guardian's  presence,  though  I  did  not  know  a  syl- 
lable of  it  till  afterwards,  for  I  was  out  when  both 
she  and  Keginald  came,  or  I  should  have  sent  him 
away  at  all  events ;  but  she  was  shut  up  with  Mr. 
Johnson,  while  he  waited  in  the  drawing-room  for 
me.  She  arrived  yesterday  in  pursuit  of  her 
husband,  but  perhaps  you  know  this  already  from 
himself.  She  came  to  this  house  to  entreat  my 
husband's  interference,  and  before  I  could  be  aware 
of  it,  everything  that  you  could  wish  to  be  con- 
cealed was  known  to  him,  and  unluckily  she  had 
wormed  out  of  Mainwaring's  servant  that  he  had 
6 


82  LADY  SUSAN. 

visited  you  every  day  since  your  being  in  town, 
and  had  just  watched  him  to  your  door  herself! 
What  could  I  do?  Facts  are  such  horrid  things! 
All  is  by  this  time  known  to  De  Courcy,  who  is 
now  alone  with  Mr.  Johnson.  Do  not  accuse  me; 
indeed,  it  was  impossible  to  prevent  it.  Mr. 
Johnson  has  for  some  time  suspected  De  Courcy  of 
intending  to  marry  you,  and  would  speak  with 
him  alone  as  soon  as  he  knew  him  to  be  in  the 
house.  That  detestable  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  who, 
for  your  comfort,  has  fretted  herself  thinnef  and 
uglier  than  ever,  is  still  here,  and  they  have  been 
all  closeted  together.  What  can  be  done?  At 
any  rate,  I  hope  he  will  plague  his  wife  more  than 
ever.  With  anxious  wishes, 

Yours  faithfully,  ALICIA. 

XXXIII. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET. 

THIS  eclaircissement  is  rather  provoking.  How 
unlucky  that  you  should  have  been  from  home !  I 
thought  myself  sure  of  you  at  seven !  I  am  undis- 
mayed, however.  Do  not  torment  yourself  with 
fears  on  my  account;  depend  on  it,  I  can  make  my 
story  good  with  Reginald.  Mainwaring  is  just 
gone;  he  brought  me  the  news  of  his  wife's  arrival. 
Silly  woman,  what  does  she  expect  by  such  ma- 
noauvres?  Yet  I  wish  she  had  stayed  quietly  at 
Langford.  Reginald  will  be  a  little  enraged  at 
first,  but  by  to-morrow's  dinner  everything  will 
be  well  again. 

Adieu!  S.  V. 


LADY  SUSAN.  83 

XXXIV. 

Mr.  De  Courcy  to  Lady  Susan. 

— —  HOTEL. 

I  WRITE  only  to  bid  you  farewell,  the  spell  is 
removed;  I  see  you  as  you  are.  Since  we  parted 
yesterday,  I  have  received  from  indisputable 
authority  such  a  history  of  you  as  must  bring  the 
most  mortifying  conviction  of  the  imposition  I 
have  been  under,  and  the  absolute  necessity  of  an 
immediate  and  eternal  separation  from  you.  You 
cannot  doubt  to  what  I  allude.  Langford!  Lang- 
ford!  that  word  will  be  sufficient.  I  received  my 
information  in  Mr.  Johnson's  house,  from  Mrs. 
Mainwaring  herself.  You  know  how  I  have 
loved  you  j  you  can  intimately  judge  of  my  present 
feelings,  but  I  am  not  so  weak  as  to  find  indulgence 
in  describing  them  to  a  woman  who  will  glory  in 
having  excited  their  anguish,  but  whose  affection 
they  have  never  been  able  to  gain. 

K.  DE  COURCY. 

XXXV. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mr.  De  Courcy. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET. 

I  WILL  not  attempt  to  describe  my  astonishment 
in  reading  the  note  this  moment  received  from  you. 
I  am  bewildered  in  my  endeavors  to  form  some  ra- 
tional conjecture  of  what  Mrs.  Mainwaring  can 
have  told  you  to  occasion  so  extraordinary  a  change 
in  your  sentiments.  Have  I  not  explained  every- 


84  LADY  SUSAN. 

thing  to  you  with  respect  to  myself  which  could 
bear  a  doubtful  meaning,  and  which  the  ill-nature 
of  the  world  had  interpreted  to  my  discredit? 
What  can  you  now  have  heard  to  stagger  your 
esteem  for  me?  Have  I  ever  had  a  concealment 
from  you?  Reginald,  you  agitate  me  beyond  ex- 
pression. I  cannot  suppose  that  the  old  story  of 
Mrs.  Mainwaring's  jealousy  can  be  revived  again, 
or  at  least  be  listened  to  again.  Come  to  me 
immediately,  and  explain  what  is  at  present  ab- 
solutely incomprehensible.  Believe  me  the  single 
word  of  Langford  is  not  of  such  potent  intelligence 
as  to  supersede  the  necessity  of  more.  If  we  are 
to  part,  it  will  at  least  be  handsome  to  take  your 
personal  leave  —  but  I  have  little  heart  to  jest;  in 
truth,  I  am  serious  enough;  for  to  be  sunk,  though 
but  for  an  hour,  in  your  esteem  is  a  humiliation 
to  which  I  know  not  how  to  submit.  I  shall  count 
every  minute  till  your  arrival. 

S.  V. 

XXXVI. 

Mr.  De  Courcy  to  Lady  Susan. 

HOTEL. 

WHY  would  you  write  to  me?  Why  do  you 
require  particulars?  But  since  it  must  be  so,  I  am 
obliged  to  declare  that  all  the  accounts  of  your  mis- 
conduct during  the  life  and  since  the  death  of  Mr. 
Vernon,  which  had  reached  me,  in  common  with  the 
world  in  general,  and  gained  my  entire  belief  be- 
fore I  saw  you,  but  which  you,  by  the  exertion  of 
your  perverted  abilities,  had  made  me  resolved  to 
disallow,  have  been  unanswerably  proved  to  me; 


LADY   SUSAN.  85 

nay  more,  I  am  assured  that  a  connection  of  which  I 
had  never  before  entertained  a  thought,  has  for 
some  time  existed,  and  still  continues  to  exist, 
between  you  and  the  man  whose  family  you  robbed 
of  its  peace  in  return  for  the  hospitality  with  which 
you  were  received  into  it;  that  you  have  corre- 
sponded with  him  ever  since  your  leaving  Langford; 
not  with  his  wife,  but  with  him,  and  that  he  now 
visits  you  every  day.  Can  you,  dare  you  deny  it? 
and  all  this  at  the  time  when  I  was  an  encouraged, 
an  accepted  lover !  From  what  have  I  not  escaped! 
I  have  only  to  be  grateful.  Far  from  me  be  all 
complaint,  every  sigh  of  regret.  My  own  folly 
had  endangered  me,  my  preservation  I  owe  to  the 
kindness,  the  integrity  of  another;  but  the  unfor- 
tunate Mrs.  Mainwaring,  whose  agonies  while  she 
related  the  past  seemed  to  threaten  her  reason,  — 
how  is  she  to  be  consoled !  After  such  a  discovery  as 
this,  you  will  scarcely  affect  further  wonder  at  my 
meaning  in  bidding  you  adieu.  My  understand- 
ing is  at  length  restored,  and  teaches  no  less  to 
abhor  the  artifices  which  had  subdued  me  than  to 
despise  myself  for  the  weakness  on  which  their 
strength  was  founded. 

R.  DE  COURCY. 

XXXVII. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mr.  De  Courcy. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET, 

I  AM  satisfied,  and  will  trouble  you  no  more 
when  these  few  lines  are  dismissed.  The  engage- 
ment which  you  were  eager  to  form  a  fortnight  ago 


86  LADY  SUSAN. 

is  no  longer  compatible  with  your  views,  and  I  re- 
joice to  find  that  the  prudent  advice  of  your  parents 
has  not  been  given  in  vain.  Your  restoration  to 
peace  will,  I  doubt  not,  speedily  follow  this  act  of 
filial  obedience,  and  I  flatter  myself  with  the  hope 
of  surviving  my  share  in  this  disappointment. 

S.  V. 

XXXVIII. 

Mrs.  Johnson  to  Lady  Susan  Vernon. 

EDWARD  STREET. 

I  AM  grieved,  though  I  cannot  be  astonished,  at 
your  rupture  with  Mr.  De  Courcy ;  he  has  just  in- 
formed Mr.  Johnson  of  it  by  letter.  He  leaves 
London,  he  says,  to-day.  Be  assured  that  I  par- 
take in  all  your  feelings,  and  do  not  be  angry  if  I 
say  that  our  intercourse,  even  by  letter,  must  soon 
be  given  up.  It  makes  me  miserable ;  but  Mr.  John- 
son vows  that  if  I  persist  in  the  connection,  he 
will  settle  in  the  country  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
and  you  know  it  is  impossible  to  submit  to  such 
an  extremity  while  any  other  alternative  remains. 
You  have  heard  of  course  that  the  Mainwarings 
are  to  part,  and  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  M.  will  come 
home  to  us  again ;  but  she  is  still  so  fond  of  her 
husband,  and  frets  so  much  about  him,  that  per- 
haps she  may  not  live  long.  Miss  Mainwaring  is 
just  come  to  town  to  be  with  her  aunt,  and  they 
say  that  she  declares  she  will  have  Sir  James 
Martin  before  she  leaves  London  again.  If  I  were 
you,  I  would  certainly  get  him  myself.  I  had 
almost  forgot  to  give  you  my  opinion  of  Mr.  De 


LADY  SUSAN.  87 

Courcy:  I  am  really  delighted  with  him;  he  is  full 
as  handsome,  I  think,  as  Mainwaring,  and  with 
such  an  open,  good-humored  countenance  that  one 
cannot  help  loving  him  at  first  sight.  Mr.  John- 
son and  he  are  the  greatest  friends  in  the  world. 
Adieu,  my  dearest  Susan,  I  wish  matters  did  not 
go  so  perversely.  That  unlucky  visit  to  Langford! 
but  T  dare  say  you  did  all  for  the  best,  and  there 
is  no  defying  destiny. 

Your  sincerely  attached,  ALICIA* 


XXXIX. 

Lady  Susan  to  Mrs.  Johnson. 

UPPER  SEYMOUR  STREET. 

MY  DEAR  ALICIA,  —  I  yield  to  the  necessity 
which  parts  us.  Under  circumstances  you  could 
not  act  otherwise.  Our  friendship  cannot  be  im- 
paired by  it,  and  in  happier  times,  when  your 
situation  is  as  independent  as  mine,  it  will  unite 
us  again  in  the  same  intimacy  as  ever.  For  this 
I  shall  impatiently  wait,  and  meanwhile  can  safely 
assure  you  that  I  never  was  more  at  ease,  or  better 
satisfied  with  myself  and  everything  about  me 
than  at  the  present  hour.  Your  husband  I  abhor, 
Reginald  I  despise,  and  I  am  secure  of  never  see- 
ing either  again.  Have  I  not  reason  to  rejoice? 
Mainwaring  is  more  devoted  to  me  than  ever;  and 
were  we  at  liberty,  I  doubt  if  I  could  resist  even 
matrimony  offered  by  him.  This  event,  if  his 
wife  live  with  you,  it  may  be  in  your  power  to 
hasten.  The  violence  of  her  feelings,  which  must 


88  LADY  SUSAN. 

wear  her  out,  may  be  easily  kept  in  irritation.  1 
rely  on  your  friendship  for  this.  I  am  now  satis- 
fied that  I  never  could  have  brought  myself  to 
marry  Reginald,  and  am  equally  determined  that 
Frederica  never  shall.  To-morrow  I  shall  fetch 
her  from  Churchhill,  and  let  Maria  Mainwaring 
tremble  for  the  consequence.  Frederica  shall  be 
Sir  James's  wife  before  she  quits  my  house,  and 
she  may  whimper,  and  the  Vernons  may  storm,  I 
regard  them  not.  I  am  tired  of  submitting  my 
will  to  the  caprices  of  others ;  of  resigning  my  own 
judgment  in  deference  to  those  to  whom  I  owe  no 
duty,  and  for  whom  I  feel  no  respect ;  I  have  given 
up  too  much,  have  been  too  easily  worked  on,  but 
Frederica  shall  now  feel  the  difference.  Adieu, 
dearest  of  friends ;  may  the  next  gouty  attack  be 
more  favorable !  and  may  you  always  regard  me  as 
unalterably  yours, 

S.  VERNON. 

XL. 

Lady  De  Courcy  to  Mrs.  Vernon. 

MY  DEAR  CATHERINE,  —  I  have  charming  news 
for  you,  and  if  I  had  not  sent  off  my  letter  this 
morning  you  might  have  been  spared  the  vexation 
of  knowing  of  Reginald's  being  gone  to  London, 
for  he  is  returned.  Reginald  is  returned,  not  to 
ask  our  consent  to  his  marrying  Lady  Susan,  but 
to  tell  us  they  are  parted  forever.  He  has  been 
only  an  hour  in  the  house,  and  I  have  not  been 
able  to  learn  particulars,  for  he  is  so  very  low  that 
I  have  not  the  heart  to  ask  questions,  but  I  hope 


LADY  SUSAN.  89 

we  shall  soon  know  all.  This  is  the  most  joyful 
hour  he  has  ever  given  us  since  the  day  of  his 
birth.  Nothing  is  wanting  but  to  have  you  here, 
and  it  is  our  particular  wish  and  entreaty  that  you 
would  come  to  us  as  soon  as  you  can.  You  have 
owed  us  a  visit  many  long  weeks ;  I  hope  nothing 
will  make  it  inconvenient  to  Mr.  Vernon;  and 
pray  bring  all  my  grandchildren;  and  your  dear 
niece  is  included,  of  course ;  I  long  to  see  her.  It 
has  been  a  sad,  heavy  winter  hitherto,  without 
Reginald,  and  seeing  nobody  from  Churchhill.  I 
never  found  the  season  so  dreary  before ;  but  this 
happy  meeting  will  make  us  young  again.  Fred- 
erica  runs  much  in  my  thoughts,  and  when  Regi- 
nald has  recovered  his  usual  good  spirits  (as  I 
trust  he  soon  will),  we  will  try  to  rob  him  of  his 
heart  once  more,  and  I  am  full  of  hopes  of  seeing 
their  hands  joined  at  no  great  distance. 
Your  affectionate  mother, 

C.  DE  COURCT. 

XLI. 

Mrs.  Vernon  to  Lady  De  Courcy. 

CHURCHHILL, 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  Your  letter  has  surprised 
me  beyond  measure!  Can  it  be  true  that  they  are 
really  separated  —  and  forever?  I  should  be  over- 
joyed if  I  dared  depend  on  it,  but  after  all  that  I 
have  seen  how  can  one  be  secure?  And  Reginald 
really  with  you!  My  surprise  is  the  greater  be- 
cause on  Wednesday,  the  very  day  of  his  coming 
to  Parklands,  we  had  a  most  unexpected  and  un- 


90  LADY  SUSAN. 

welcome  visit  from  Lady  Susan,  looking  all  cheer- 
fulness and  good-humor,  and  seeming  more  as  if 
she  were  to  marry  him  when  she  got  to  London 
than  as  if  parted  from  him  forever.  She  stayed 
nearly  two  hours,  was  as  affectionate  and  agreeable 
as  ever,  and  not  a  syllable,  not  a  hint  was  dropped, 
of  any  disagreement  or  coolness  between  them.  I 
asked  her  whether  she  had  seen  my  brother  since 
his  arrival  in  town;  not,  as  you  may  .suppose,  with 
any  doubt  of  the  fact,  but  merely  to  see  how  she 
looked.  She  immediately  answered,  without  any 
embarrassment,  that  he  had  been  kind  enough  to 
call  on  her  on  Monday;  but  she  believed  he  had 
already  returned  home,  which  I  was  very  far  from 
crediting.  Your  kind  invitation  is  accepted  by 
us  with  pleasure,  and  on  Thursday  next  we  and  our 
little  ones  will  be  with  you.  Pray  heaven,  Regi- 
nald may  not  be  in  town  again  by  that  time !  I 
wish  we  could  bring  dear  Frederica  too,  but  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  her  mother's  errand  hither  was  to 
fetch  her  away ;  and,  miserable  as  it  made  the  poor 
girl,  it  was  impossible  to  detain  her.  I  was 
thoroughly  unwilling  to  let  her  go,  and  so  was  her 
uncle;  and  all  that  could  be  urged  we  did  urge; 
but  Lady  Susan  declared  that  as  she  was  now 
about  to  fix  herself  in  London  for  several  months, 
she  could  not  be  easy  if  her  daughter  were  not  with 
her  for  masters,  etc.  Her  manner,  to  be  sure,  was 
very  kind  and  proper,  and  Mr.  Vernon  believes 
that  Frederica  will  now  be  treated  with  affection. 
I  wish  I  could  think  so  too.  The  poor  girl's 
heart  was  almost  broke  at  taking  leave  of  us.  I 
charged  her  to  write  to  me  very  often,  and  to  re- 


LADY  SUSAN.  91 

member  that  if  she  were  in  any  distress  we  should 
be  always  her  friends.  I  took  care  to  see  her 
alone,  that  I  might  say  all  this,  and  I  hope  made 
her  a  little  more  comfortable;  but  I  shall  not  be 
easy  till  I  can  go  to  town  and  judge  of  her  situa- 
tion myself.  I  wish  there  were  a  better  prospect 
than  now  appears  of  the  match  which  the  conclu- 
sion of  your  letter  declares  your  expectations  of. 
At  present  it  is  not  very  likely. 
Yours  ever,  etc., 

C.  VERNON. 


CONCLUSION. 

THIS  correspondence,  by  a  meeting  between  some 
of  the  parties,  and  a  separation  between  the  others, 
could  not,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  Post-Office 
revenue,  be  continued  any  longer.  Very  little  as- 
sistance to  the  State  could  be  derived  from  the 
epistolary  intercourse  of  Mrs.  Vernon  and  her 
niece;  for  the  former  soon  perceived,  by  the  style 
of  Frederica's  letters,  that  they  were  written  under 
her  mother's  inspection!  and  therefore,  deferring 
all  particular  inquiry  till  she  could  make  it  per- 
sonally in  London,  ceased  writing  minutely  or 
often.  Having  learnt  enough  in  the  mean  while, 
from  her  open-hearted  brother,  of  what  had  passed 
between  him  and  Lady  Susan  to  sink  the  latter 
lower  than  ever  in  her  opinion,  she  was  proportion- 
ably  more  anxious  to  get  Frederica  removed  from 
such  a  mother,  and  placed  under  her  own  care; 
and,  though  with  little  hope  of  success,  was  re- 


92  LADY  SUSAN. 

solved  to  leave  nothing  unattempted  that  might 
offer  a  chance  of  obtaining  her  sister-in-law's  con- 
sent to  it.  Her  anxiety  on  the  subject  made  her 
press  for  an  early  visit  to  London;  and  Mr.  Ver- 
non,  who,  as  it  must  already  have  appeared,  lived 
only  to  do  whatever  he  was  desired,  soon  found 
some  accommodating  business  to  call  him  thither. 
With  a  heart  full  of  the  matter,  Mrs.  Vernon 
waited  on  Lady  Susan  shortly  after  her  arrival  in 
town,  and  was  met  with  such  an  easy  and  cheerful 
affection,  as  made  her  almost  turn  from  her  with 
horror.  No  remembrance  of  Reginald,  no  con- 
sciousness of  guilt,  gave  one  look  of  embarrass- 
ment; she  was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  seemed 
eager  to  show  at  once  by  every  possible  attention 
to  her  brother  and  sister  her  sense  of  their  kind- 
ness, and  her  pleasure  in  their  society.  Frederica 
was  no  more  altered  than  Lady  Susan;  the  same 
restrained  manners,  the  same  timid  look  in  the 
presence  of  her  mother  as  heretofore,  assured  her 
aunt  of  her  situation  being  uncomfortable,  and  con- 
firmed her  in  the  plan  of  altering  it.  JSTo  unkind- 
ness,  however,  on  the  part  of  Lady  Susan  appeared. 
Persecution  on  the  subject  of  Sir  James  was  en- 
tirely at  an  end;  his  name  merely  mentioned  to 
say  that  he  was  not  in  London;  and  indeed,  in  all 
her  conversation  she  was  solicitous  only  for  the 
welfare  and  improvement  of  her  daughter,  acknowl- 
edging, in  terms  oi  grateful  delight,  that  Frederica 
was  now  growing  every  day  more  and  more  what  a 
parent  could  desire.  Mrs.  Vernon,  surprised  and 
incredulous,  knew  not  what  to  suspect,  and,  with- 
out any  change  in  her  own  views,  only  feared 


LADY  SUSAN.  93 

greater  difficulty  in  accomplishing  them.  The  first 
hope  of  anything  better  was  derived  from  Lady 
Susan's  asking  her  whether  she  thought  Frederica, 
looked  quite  as  well  as  she  had  done  at  Churchhill, 
as  she  must  confess  herself  to  have  sometimes  an 
anxious  doubt  of  London's  perfectly  agreeing  with 
her.  Mrs.  Vernon,  encouraging  the  doubt,  directly 
proposed  her  niece's  returning  with  them  into  the 
country.  Lady  Susan  was  unable  to  express  her 
sense  of  such  kindness,  yet  knew  not,  from  a  va- 
riety of  reasons,  how  to  part  with  her  daughter;  and 
as,  though  her  own  plans  were  not  yet  wholly  fixed, 
she  trusted  it  would  erelong  be  in  her  power  to 
take  Frederica  into  the  country  herself,  concluded 
by  declining  entirely  to  profit  by  such  unexampled 
attention.  Mrs.  Vernon  persevered,  however,  in 
the  offer  of  it ;  and  though  Lady  Susan  continued 
to  resist,  her  resistance  in  the  course  of  a  few  days 
seemed  somewhat  less  formidable.  The  lucky 
alarm  of  an  influenza  decided  what  might  not  have 
been  decided  quite  so  soon.  Lady  Susan's  mater- 
nal fears  were  then  too  much  awakened  for  her  to 
think  of  anything  but  Frederica's  removal  from  the 
risk  of  infection;  above  all  disorders  in  the  world 
she  most  dreaded  the  influenza  for  her  daughter's 
constitution ! 

Frederica  returned  to  Churchhill  with  her  uncle 
and  aunt;  and  three  weeks  afterwards,  Lady  Susan 
announced  her  being  married  to  Sir  James  Martin. 
Mrs.  Vernon  was  then  convinced  of  what  she  had 
only  suspected  before,  that  she  might  have  spared 
herself  all  the  trouble  of  urging  a  removal  which 
Lady  Susan  had  doubtless  resolved  on  from  the 


94  LADY  SUSAN. 

first.  Frederica's  visit  was  nominally  for  six 
weeks ;  but  her  mother,  though  inviting  her  to  re- 
turn in  one  or  two  affectionate  letters,  was  very 
ready  to  oblige  the  whole  party  by  consenting  to  a 
prolongation  of  her  stay,  and  in  the  course  of  two 
months  ceased  to  write  of  her  absence,  and  in  the 
course  of  two  more  to  write  to  her  at  all.  Fred- 
erica  was  therefore  fixed  in  the  family  of  her  uncle 
and  aunt  till  such  time  as  Reginald  de  Courcy 
could  be  talked,  flattered,  and  finessed  into  an  af- 
fection for  her  which,  allowing  leisure  for  the  con- 
quest of  his  attachment  to  her  mother,  for  his 
abjuring  all  future  attachments,  and  detesting  the 
sex,  might  be  reasonably  looked  for  in  the  course 
of  a  twelvemonth.  Three  months  might  have  done 
it  in  general,  but  Reginald's  feelings  were  no  less 
lasting  than  lively.  Whether  Lady  Susan  was  or 
was  not  happy  in  her  second  choice,  I  do  not  see 
how  it  can  ever  be  ascertained ;  for  who  would  take 
her  assurance  of  it  on  either  side  of  the  question? 
The  world  must  judge  from  probabilities;  she  had 
nothing  against  her  but  her  husband  and  her  con- 
science. Sir  James  may  seem  to  have  drawn  a 
harder  lot  than  mere  folly  merited;  I  leave  him, 
therefore,  to  all  the  pity  that  anybody  can  give 
him.  For  myself,  I  confess  that  /  can  pity  only 
Miss  Mainwaring,  who,  coming  to  town,  and  put- 
ting herself  to  an  expense  in  clothes  which  im- 
poverished her  for  two  years,  on  purpose  to  secure 
him,  was  defrauded  of  her  due  by  a  woman  ten 
years  older  than  herself. 


THE    WATSONS. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  WORK  was  left  by  its  author  a  fragment  with- 
out a  name,  in  so  elementary  a  state  as  not  even 
to  be  divided  into  chapters ;  and  some  obscurities 
and  inaccuracies  of  expression  may  be  observed  in 
it  which  the  author  would  probably  have  corrected. 
The  original  manuscript  is  the  property  of  my 
sister,  Miss  Austen,  by  whose  permission  it  is 
now  published.  I  have  called  it  "  The  Watsons, ' ' 
for  the  sake  of  having  a  title  by  which  to  desig- 
nate it.  Two  questions  may  be  asked  concerning 
it, — When  was  it  written?  and,  Why  was  it 
never  finished?  I  was  unable  to  answer  the  first 
question,  so  long  as  I  had  only  the  internal  evi- 
dence of  the  style  to  guide  me.  I  felt  satisfied, 
indeed,  that  it  did  not  belong  to  that  early  class 
of  her  writings  which  are  mentioned  at  page  218  of 
the  Memoir,  but  rather  bore  marks  of  her  more 
mature  style,  though  it  had  never  been  subjected 
to  the  filing  and  polishing  process  by  which  she 
was  accustomed  to  impart  a  high  finish  to  her 
published  works.  At  last,  on  a  close  inspection 
of  the  original  manuscript,  the  water-marks  of 
7 


98  PREFACE. 

1803  and  1804  were  found  in  the  paper  on  which 
it  was  written.  It  is  therefore  probable  that  it 
was  composed  at  Bath,  before  she  ceased  to  reside 
there  in  1805.  This  would  place  the  date  a  few 
years  later  than  the  composition,  but  earlier  than 
the  publication,  of  " Sense  and  Sensibility77  and 
" Pride  and  Prejudice.'7 

To  the  second  question,  Why  was  it  never  fin- 
ished? I  can  give  no  satisfactory  answer.  I 
think  it  will  be  generally  admitted  that  there  is 
much  in  it  which  promised  well:  that  some  of 
the  characters  are  drawn  with  her  wonted  vigor, 
and  some  with  a  delicate  discrimination  peculiarly 
her  own;  and  that  it  is  rich  in  her  especial  power 
of  telling  the  story,  and  bringing  out  the  charac- 
ters by  conversation  rather  than  by  description. 
It  could  not  have  been  broken  up  for  the  purpose 
of  using  the  materials  in  another  fabric ;  for,  with 
the  exception  of  Mrs.  Robert  Watson,  in  whom  a 
resemblance  to  the  future  Mrs.  Elton  is  very 
discernible,  it  would  not  be  easy  to  trace  much 
resemblance  between  this  and  any  of  her  subse- 
quent works.  She  must  have  felt  some  regret  at 
leaving  Tom  Musgrave's  character  incomplete;  yet 
he  never  appears  elsewhere.  My  own  idea  is,  but  it 
is  only  a  guess,  that  the  author  became  aware  of 
the  evil  of  having  placed  her  heroine  too  low,  in 
such  a  position  of  poverty  and  obscurity  as,  though 
not  necessarily  connected  with  vulgarity,  has  a 


PREFACE.  99 

sad  tendency  to  degenerate  into  it  j  and  therefore, 
like  a  singer  who  has  begun  on  too  low  a  note, 
she  discontinued  the  strain.  It  was  an  error  of 
which  she  was  likely  to  become  more  sensible,  as 
she  grew  older,  and  saw  more  of  society;  certainly 
she  never  repeated  it  by  placing  the  heroine  of  any 
subsequent  work  under  circumstances  likely  to  be 
unfavorable  to  the  refinement  of  a  lady. 


THE    WATSONS. 


JHE  first  winter  assembly  in  the  town  of 
D.  in  Surrey  was  to  be  held  on  Tues- 
day, October  13th,  and  it  was  gener- 
ally expected  to  be  a  very  good  one. 
A  long  list  of  county  families  was  confidently  run 
over  as  sure  of  attending,  and  sanguine  hopes  were 
entertained  that  the  Osbornes  themselves  would 
be  there.  The  Edwards'  invitation  to  the  Wat- 
sons followed,  of  course.  The  Edwards  were  peo- 
ple of  fortune,  who  lived  in  the  town  and  kept 
their  coach.  The  Watsons  inhabited  a  village 
about  three  miles  distant,  were  poor,  and  had  no 
close  carriage;  and  ever  since  there  had  been  balls 
in  the  place,  the  former  were  accustomed  to  invite 
the  latter  to  dress,  dine,  and  sleep  at  their  house  on 
every  monthly  return  throughout  the  winter.  On 
the  present  occasion,  as  only  two  of  Mr.  Watson's 
children  were  at  home,  and  one  was  always  neces- 
sary as  companion  to  himself,  for  he  was  sickly 
and  had  lost  his  wife,  one  only  could  profit  by  the 
kindness  of  their  friends.  Miss  Emma  Watson, 


102  THE  WATSONS. 

who  was  very  recently  returned  to  her  family 
from  the  care  of  an  aunt  who  had  brought  her  up, 
was  to  make  her  first  public  appearance  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  her  eldest  sister,  whose  de- 
light in  a  ball  was  not  lessened  by  a  ten  years' 
enjoyment,  had  some  merit  in  cheerfully  under- 
taking to  drive  her  and  all  her  finery  in  the  old 
chair  to  D.  on  the  important  morning. 

As  they  splashed  along  the  dirty  lane,  Miss 
Watson  thus  instructed  and  cautioned  her  inex- 
perienced sister :  — 

"I  dare  say  it  will  be  a  very  good  ball,  and 
among  so  many  officers  you  will  hardly  want 
partners.  You  will  find  Mrs.  Edwards'  maid  very 
willing  to  help  you,  and  I  would  advise  you  to  ask 
Mary  Edwards'  opinion  if  you  are  at  all  at  a  loss, 
for  she  has  a  very  good  taste.  If  Mr.  Edwards 
does  not  lose  his  money  at  cards,  you  will  stay  as 
late  as  you  can  wish  for ;  if  he  does,  he  will  hurry 
you  home  perhaps  —  but  you  are  sure  of  some 
comfortable  soup.  I  hope  you  will  be  in  good 
looks.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  were  to 
be  thought  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  the  room; 
there  is  a  great  deal  in  novelty.  Perhaps  Tom 
Musgrave  may  take  notice  of  you;  but  I  would 
advise  you  by  all  means  not  to  give  him  any  en- 
couragement. He  generally  pays  attention  to 
every  new  girl ;  but  he  is  a  great  flirt,  and  never 
means  anything  serious." 

"I  think  I  have  heard  you  speak  of  him  be- 
fore," said  Emma;  "who  is  he?" 

"A  young  man  of  very  good  fortune,  quite 
independent,  and  remarkably  agreeable, —  a  univer- 


THE   WATSONS.  103 

sal  favorite  wherever  lie  goes.  Most  of  the  girls 
hereabout  are  in  love  with  him,  or  have  been.  I 
believe  I  am  the  only  one  among  them  that  have 
escaped  with  a  whole  heart;  and  yet  I  was  the 
first  he  paid  attention  to  when  he  came  into  this 
country  six  years  ago;  and  very  great  attention 
did  he  pay  me.  Some  people  say  that  he  has 
never  seemed  to  like  any  girl  so  well  since,  though 
he  is  always  behaving  in  a  particular  way  to  one 
or  another. " 

' '  And  how  came  your  heart  to  be  the  only  cold 
one?  "  said  Emma,  smiling. 

"  There  was  a  reason  for  that,"  replied  Miss 
Watson,  changing  color,  —  "I  have  not  been  very 
well  used  among  them,  Emma.  I  hope  you  will 
have  better  luck." 

"Dear  sister,  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have 
unthinkingly  given  you  pain." 

"When  first  we  knew  Tom  Musgrave, "  con- 
tinued Miss  Watson,  without  seeming  to  hear  her, 
•''  I  was  very  much  attached  to  a  young  man  of  the 
name  of  Purvis,  a  particular  friend  of  Robert's, 
who  used  to  be  with  us  a  great  deal.  Everybody 
thought  it  would  have  been  a  match." 

A  sigh  accompanied  these  words,  which  Emma 
respected  in  silence;  but  her  sister  after  a  short 
pause  went  on. 

"You  will  naturally  ask  why  it  did  not  take 
place,  and  why  he  is  married  to  another  woman, 
while  I  am  still  single,  But  you  must  ask  him, 
not  me,  —  you  must  ask  Penelope.  Yes,  Emma, 
Penelope  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  She  thinks 
everything  fair  for  a  husband.  I  trusted  her ;  she 


104  THE  WATSONS. 

set  him  against  me,  with  a  view  of  gaining  him 
herself,  and  it  ended  in  his  discontinuing  his 
visits,  and  soon  after  mairying  somebody  else. 
Penelope  makes  light  of  her  conduct,  but  I  think 
such  treachery  very  bad.  It  has  been  the  ruin  of 
my  happiness.  I  shall  never  love  any  man  as  I 
loved  Purvis.  I  do  not  think  Tom  Musgrave 
should  be  named  with  him  in  the  same  day." 

11  You  quite  shock  me  by  what  you  say  of  Pene- 
lope," said  Emma.  "  Could  a  sister  do  such  a 
thing?  Rivalry,  treachery  between  sisters !  I  shall 
be  afraid  of  being  acquainted  with  her.  But  I  hope 
it  was  not  so;  appearances  were  against  her." 

"You  do  not  know  Penelope.  There  is  noth- 
ing she  would  not  do  to  get  married.  She  would 
as  good  as  tell  you  so  herself.  Do  not  trust  her 
with  any  secrets  of  your  own,  take  warning  by  me, 
do  not  trust  her;  she  has  her  good  qualities,  but 
she  has  no  faith,  no  honor,  no  scruples,  if  she  can 
promote  her  own  advantage.  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  she  was  well  married.  I  declare  I  had 
rather  have  her  well  married  than  myself." 

"  Than  yourself!  yes,  I  can  suppose  so.  A  heart 
wounded  like  yours  can  have  little  inclination  for 
matrimony. " 

"Not  much  indeed  —  but  you  know  we  must 
marry.  I  could  do  very  well  single  for  my  own 
part ;  a  little  company,  and  a  pleasant  ball  now  and 
then,  would  be  enough  for  me,  if  one  could  be 
young '  forever ;  but  my  father  cannot  provide  for 
us,  and  it  is  very  bad  to  grow  old  and  be  poor  and 
laughed  at.  I  have  lost  Purvis,  it  is  true;  but 
very  few  people  marry  their  first  loves.  I  should 


THE  WATSONS.  105 

not  refuse  a  man  because  he  was  not  Purvis.  Not 
that  I  can  ever  quite  forgive  Penelope." 

Emma  shook  her  head  in  acquiescence. 

"Penelope,  however,  has  had  her  troubles, " 
continued  Miss  Watson.  "  She  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed in  Tom  Musgrave,  who  afterwards  trans- 
ferred his  attentions  from  me  to  her,  and  whom 
she  was  very  fond  of;  but  he  never  means  anything 
serious,  and  when  he  had  trifled  with  her  long 
enough,  he  began  to  slight  her  for  Margaret,  and 
poor  Penelope  was  very  wretched.  And  since 
then  she  has  been  trying  to  make  some  match  at 
Chichester,  — she  won't  tell  us  with  whom;  but  I 
believe  it  is  a  rich  old  Dr.  Harding,  uncle  to  the 
friend  she  goes  to  see;  and  she  has  taken  a  vast 
deal  of  trouble  about  him,  and  given  up  a  great 
deal  of  time  to  no  purpose  as  yet.  When  she  went 
away  the  other  day,  she  said  it  should  be  the  last 
time.  I  suppose  you  did  not  know  what  her  par- 
ticular business  was  at  Chichester,  nor  guess  at 
the  object  which  could  take  her  away  from  Stanton 
just  as  you  were  coming  home  after  so  many  years' 
absence." 

' '  No  indeed,  I  had  not  the  smallest  suspicion  of 
it.  I  considered  her  engagement  to  Mrs.  Shaw 
just  at  that  time  as  very  unfortunate  for  me.  I 
had  hoped  to  find  all  my  sisters  at  home,  to  be 
able  to  make  an  immediate  friend  of  each/7 

"  I  suspect  the  Doctor  to  have  had  an  attack  of 
the  asthma,  and  that  she  was  hurried  away  on  that 
account.  The  Shaws  are  quite  on  her  side,  —  at 
least,  I  believe  so ;  but  she  tells  me  nothing.  She 
professes  to  keep  her  own  counsel;  she  says,  and 


106  THE   WATSONS. 

truly  enough,  that  'Too  many  cooks  spoil  the 
broth. '" 

"I  am  sorry  for  her  anxieties, "  said  Emma; 
ft  but  I  do  not  like  her  plans  or  her  opinions.  I 
shall  be  afraid  of  her.  She  must  have  too  mascu- 
line and  bold  a  temper.  To  be  so  bent  on  marriage, 
to  pursue  a  man  merely  for  the  sake  of  situation, 
is  a  sort  of  thing  that  shocks  me ;  I  cannot  under- 
stand it.  Poverty  is  a  great  evil ;  but  to  a  woman 
of  education  and  feeling  it  ought  not,  it  cannot  be 
the  greatest.  I  would  rather  be  teacher  at  a  school 
(and  I  can  think  of  nothing  worse)  than  marry  a 
man  I  did  not  like." 

' '  I  would  rather  do  anything  than  be  teacher  at 
a  school,"  said  her  sister.  "  I  have  been  at  school, 
Emma,  and  know  what  a  life  they  lead;  you  never 
have.  I  should  not  like  marrying  a  disagreeable 
man  any  more  than  yourself;  but  I  do  not  think 
there  are  many  very  disagreeable  men;  I  think  I 
could  like  any  good-humored  man  with  a  comfort- 
able income.  I  suppose  my  aunt  brought  you  up 
to  be  rather  refined." 

"  Indeed  I  do  not  know.  My  conduct  must  tell 
you  how  I  have  been  brought  up.  I  am  no  judge 
of  it  myself.  I  cannot  compare  my  aunt's  method 
with  any  other  person's,  because  I  know  no  other." 

"  But  I  can  see  in  a  great  many  things  that  you 
are  very  refined.  I  have  observed  it  ever  since 
you  came  home,  and  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  be  for 
your  happiness.  Penelope  will  laugh  at  you  very 
much." 

"  That  will  not  be  for  my  happiness>  I  am  sure. 
If  my  opinions  are  wrong,  I  must  correct  themj  if 


THE  WATSONS.  107 

they  are  above  my  situation,  I  miist  endeavor  to 
conceal  them ;  but  I  doubt  whether  ridicule  —  Has 
Penelope  much  wit?  " 

"Yes;  she  has  great  spirits,  and  never  cares 
what  she  says." 

" Margaret  is  more  gentle,  I  imagine?" 

"Yes;  especially  in  company.  She  is  all  gentle- 
ness and  mildness  when  anybody  is  by;  but  she 
is  a  little  fretful  and  perverse  among  ourselves. 
Poor  creature!  She  is  possessed  with  the  notion 
of  Tom  Musgrave's  being  more  seriously  in  love 
with  her  than  he  ever  was  with  anybody  else,  and 
is  always  expecting  him  to  come  to  the  point. 
This  is  the  second  time  within  this  twelvemonth 
that  she  has  gone  to  spend  a  month  with  Eobert 
and  Jane  on  purpose  to  egg  him  on  by  her  absence ; 
but  I  am  sure  she  is  mistaken,  and  that  he  will  no 
more  follow  her  to  Croydon  now  than  he  did  last 
March.  He  will  never  marry  unless  he  can  marry 
somebody  very  great,  —  Miss  Osborne,  perhaps,  or 
somebody  in  that  style.'7 

"Your  account  of  this  Tom  Musgrave,  Eliza- 
beth, gives  me  very  little  inclination  for  his 
acquaintance." 

"You  are  afraid  of  him;  I  do  not  wonder  at 
you." 

"No,  indeed;  I  dislike  and  despise  him." 

"Dislike  and  despise  Tom  Musgrave!  No,  that 
you  never  can.  I  defy  you  not  to  be  delighted 
with  him  if  he  takes  notice  of  you.  I  hope  he  will 
dance  with  you;  and  I  dare  say  he  will,  unless  the 
Osbornes  come  with  a  large  party,  and  then  he  will 
not  speak  to  anybody  else." 


108  THE   WATSONS. 

"He  seems  to  have  most  engaging  manners!" 
said  Emma.  "  Well,  we  shall  see  how  irresistible 
Mr.  Tom  Musgrave  and  I  find  each  other.  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  know  him  as  soon  as  I  enter  the  ball- 
room ;  he  must  carry  some  of  his  charms  in  his  face. 7 ' 

"You  will  not  find  him  in  the  ball-room,  I  can 
tell  you;  you  will  go  early,  that  Mrs.  Edwards 
may  get  a  good  place  by  the  fire,  and  he  never 
comes  till  late  j  if  the  Osbornes  are  coming,  he  will 
wait  in  the  passage  and  come  in  with  them.  I 
should  like  to  look  in  upon  you,  Emma.  If  it  was 
but  a  good  day  with  my  father,  I  would  wrap  my- 
self up,  and  James  should  drive  me  over  as  soon  as 
I  had  made  tea  for  him  j  and  I  should  be  with  you 
by  the  time  the  dancing  began.77 

"What!  Would  you  come  late  at  night  in  this 
chair?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  would.  There,  I  said  you  were 
very  refined,  and  that  7s  an  instance  of  it.'7 

Emma  for  a  moment  made  no  answer.  At  last 
she  said,  — 

"  I  wish,  Elizabeth,  you  had  not  made  a  point 
of  my  going  to  this  ball;  I  wish  you  were  going 
instead  of  me.  Your  pleasure  would  be  greater 
than  mine.  I  am  a  stranger  here,  and  know  no- 
body but  the  Edwards  j  my  enjoyment,  therefore, 
must  be  very  doubtful.  Yours,  among  all  your 
acquaintance,  would  be  certain.  It  is  not  too  late 
to  change.  Very  little  apology  could  be  requisite 
to  the  Edwards,  who  must  be  more  glad  of  your 
company  than  of  mine,  and  I  should  most  readily 
return  to  my  father;  and  should  not  be  at  all 
afraid  to  drive  this  quiet  old  creature  home.  Your 


THE  WATSONS.  109 

clothes  I  would  undertake  to  find  means  of  sending 
to  you." 

"My  dearest  Emma,"  cried  Elizabeth,  warmly, 
"do  you  think  I  would  do  such  a  thing?  Not 
for  the  universe!  But  I  shall  never  forget  your 
good-nature  in  proposing  it.  You  must  have  a 
sweet  temper  indeed!  I  never  met  with  anything 
like  it!  And  would  you  really  give  up  the  ball 
that  I  might  be  able  to  go  to  it?  Believe  me, 
Emma,  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  that  comes  to.  No; 
though  I  am  nine  years  older  than  you  are,  I  would 
not  be  the  means  of  keeping  you  from  being  seen. 
You  are  very  pretty,  and  it  would  be  very  hard  that 
you  should  not  have  as  fair  a  chance  as  we  have 
all  had  to  make  your  fortune.  No,  Emma,  whoever 
stays  at  home  this  winter,  it  sha'n't  be  you.  I 
am  sure  I  should  never  have  forgiven  the  person 
who  kept  me  from  a  ball  at  nineteen." 

Emma  expressed  her  gratitude,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  they  jogged  on  in  silence.  Elizabeth  first 
spoke : — 

"  You  will  take  notice  who  Mary  Edwards  dances 
with?  " 

"I  will  remember  her  partners,  if  I  can;  but 
you  know  they  will  be  all  strangers  to  me." 

( '  Only  observe  whether  she  dances  with  Captain 
Hunter  more  than  once,  —  I  have  m}^  fears  in  that 
quarter.  Not  that  her  father  or  mother  like  offi- 
cers; but  if  she  does,  you  know,  it  is  all  over  vrith 
poor  Sam.  And  I  have  promised  to  write  him 
word  who  she  dances  with." 

"  Is  Sam  attached  to  Miss  Edwards?  " 

"  Did  not  you  know  that?  " 


110  THE   WATSONS. 

"  How  should  I  know  it?  How  should  I  know 
in  Shropshire  what  is  passing  of  that  nature  in 
Surrey?  It  is  not  likely  that  circumstances  of 
such  delicacy  should  have  made  any  part  of  the 
scanty  communication  which  passed  between  you 
and  me  for  the  last  fourteen  years." 

"I  wonder  I  never  mentioned  it  when  I  wrote. 
Since  you  have  been  at  home,  I  have  been  so  busy 
with  my  poor  father  and  our  great  wash  that  I 
have  had  no  leisure  to  tell  you  anything;  but,  in- 
deed, I  concluded  you  knew  it  all.  He  has  been 
very  much  in  love  with  her  these  two  years,  and  it 
is  a  great  disappointment  to  him  that  he  cannot  al- 
ways get  away  to  our  balls ;  but  Mr.  Curtis  won't 
often  spare  him,  and  just  now  it  is  a  sickly  time  at 
Guildford." 

"Do  you  suppose  Miss  Edwards  inclined  to  like 
him?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not :  you  know  she  is  an  only  child, 
and  will  have  at  least  ten  thousand  pounds. 

"But  still  she  may  like  our  brother." 

"Oh,  no!  The  Edwards  look  much  higher. 
Her  father  and  mother  would  never  consent  to  it. 
Sam  is  only  a  surgeon,  you  know.  Sometimes  I 
think  she  does  like  him.  But  Mary  Edwards  is 
rather  prim  and  reserved;  I  do  not  always  know 
what  she  would  be  at." 

"Unless  Sam  feels  on  sure  grounds  with  the 
lady  herself,  it  seems  a  pity  to  me  that  he  should 
be  encouraged  to  think  of  her  at  all." 

"A  young  man  must  think  of  somebody,"  said 
Elizabeth,  "  and  why  should  not  he  be  as  lucky  as 
Robert,  who  has  got  a  good  wife  and  six  thousand 
pounds?  " 


THE  WATSONS.  Ill 

"We  must  not  all  expect  to  be  individually 
lucky/'  replied  Emma.  "  The  luck  of  one  member 
of  a  family  is  luck  to  all." 

"  Mine  is  all  to  come,  I  am  sure, "  said  Elizabeth* 
giving  another  sigh  to  the  remembrance  of  Purvis, 
"  I  have  been  unlucky  enough;  and  I  cannot  say 
much  for  you,  as  my  aunt  married  again  so  fool- 
ishly. Well,  you  will  have  a  good  ball,  I  dare- 
say. The  next  turning  will  bring  us  to  the 
turnpike :  you  may  see  the  church-tower  over  the 
hedge,  and  the  White  Hart  is  close  by  it.  I  shall 
long  to  know  what  you  think  of  Tom  Musgrave." 

Such  were  the  last  audible  sounds  of  Miss 
Watson's  voice,  before  they  passed  through  the 
turnpike-gate,  and  entered  on  the  pitching  of  the 
town,  the  jumbling  and  noise  of  which  made  fur- 
ther conversation  most  thoroughly  undesirable. 
The  old  mare  trotted  heavily  on,  wanting  no  direc- 
tion of  the  reins  to  take  the  right  turning,  and 
making  only  one  blunder,  in  proposing  to  stop  at 
the  milliner's  before  she  drew  up  towards  Mr. 
Edwards'  door.  Mr.  Edwards  lived  in  the  best 
house  in  the  street,  and  the  best  in  the  place,  if  Mr. 
Tomlinson,  the  banker,  might  be  indulged  in  calling 
his  newly  erected  house  at  the  end  of  the  town, 
writh  a  shrubbery  and  sweep,  in  the  country. 

Mr.  Edwards'  house  was  higher  than  most  of  its 
neighbors,  with  four  windows  on  each  side  the 
door;  the  windows  guarded  by  posts  and  chains, 
and  the  door  approached  by  a  flight  of  stone 
steps. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Elizabeth,  as  the  carriage 
ceased  moving,  "safely  arrived,  and  by  the  market 


112  THE   WATSONS. 

clock  we  have  been  only  five-and-thirty  minutes 
coming;  which  I  think  is  doing  pretty  well, 
though  it  would  he  nothing  for  Penelope.  Is  not 
it  a  nice  town?  The  Edwards  have  a  noble  house, 
you  see,  and  they  live  quite  in  style.  The  door 
will  be  opened  by  a  man  in  livery,  with  a 
powdered  head,  I  can  tell  you." 

Emma  had  seen  the  Edwards  only  one  morning 
at  Stanton ;  they  were  therefore  all  but  strangers  to 
her;  and  though  her  spirits  were  by  no  means  in- 
sensible to  the  expected  joys  of  the  evening,  she 
felt  a  little  uncomfortable  in  the  thought  of  all 
that  was  to  precede  them.  Her  conversation  with 
Elizabeth,  too,  giving  her  some  very  unpleasant 
feelings  with  respect  to  her  own  family,  had  made 
her  more  open  to  disagreeable  impressions  from 
any  other  cause,  and  increased  her  sense  of  the 
awkwardness  of  rushing  into  intimacy  on  so  slight 
an  acquaintance. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  manner  of  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Edwards  to  give  immediate  change  to  these 
ideas.  The  mother,  though  a  very  friendly  wo- 
man, had  a  reserved  air,  and  a  great  deal  of  formal 
civility;  and  the  daughter,  a  genteel-looking  girl 
of  twenty-two,  with  her  hair  in  papers,  seemed  very 
naturally  to  have  caught  something  of  the  style 
of  her  mother,  who  had  brought  her  up.  Emma 
was  soon  left  to  know  what  they  could  be,  by 
Elizabeth's  being  obliged  to  hurry  away;  and  some 
very  languid  remarks  on  the  probable  brilliancy  of 
the  ball  were  all  that  broke,  at  intervals,  a  silence 
of  half  an  hour,  before  they  were  joined  by  the 
master  of  the  house.  Mr.  Edwards  had  a  much 


THE  WATSONS.  113 

easier  and  more  communicative  air  than  the  ladies 
of  the  family  j  he  was  fresh  from  the  street,  and  he 
came  ready  to  tell  whatever  might  interest.  After 
a  cordial  reception  of  Emma,  he  turned  to  his 
daughter  with,  — . 

"Well,  Mary,  I  bring  you  good  news:  the 
Osbornes  will  certainly  be  at  the  ball  to-night. 
Horses  for  two  carriages  are  ordered  from  the 
White  Hart  to  be  at  Osborne  Castle  by  nine." 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  observed  Mrs.  Edwards,  "be- 
cause their  coming  gives  a  credit  to  our  assem- 
bly. The  Osbornes  being  known  to  have  been  at 
the  first  ball,  will  dispose  a  great  many  people  to 
attend  the  second.  It  is  more  than  they  deserve ; 
for,  in  fact,  they  add  nothing  to  the  pleasure 
of  the  evening:  they  come  so  late  and  go  so  early; 
but  great  people  have  always  their  charm." 

Mr.  Edwards  proceeded  to  relate  many  other 
little  articles  of  news  which  his  morning's  lounge 
had  supplied  him  with,  and  they  chatted  with 
greater  briskness,  till  Mrs.  Edwards'  moment  for 
dressing  arrived,  and  the  young  ladies  were  care- 
fully recommended  to  lose  no  time.  Emma  was 
shown  to  a  very  comfortable  apartment,  and  as 
soon  as  Mrs.  Edwards'  civilities  could  leave  her  to 
herself,  the  happy  occupation,  the  first  bliss  of  a 
ball,  began.  The  girls,  dressing  in  some  measure 
together,  grew  unavoidably  better  acquainted. 
Emma  found  in  Miss  Edwards  the  show  of  good 
sense,  a  modest  unpretending  mind,  and  a  great 
wish  of  obliging;  and  when  they  returned  to  the 
parlor  where  Mrs.  Edwards  was  sitting,  respectably 
attired  in  one  of  the  two  satin  gowns  which  went 
8 


114  THE  WATSONS. 

through  the  winter,  and  a  new  cap  from  the 
milliner's,  they  entered  it  with  much  easier  feelings 
and  more  natural  smiles  than  they  had  taken  away. 
Their  dress  was  now  to  be  examined :  Mrs.  Edwards 
acknowledged  herself  too  old-fashioned  to  approve 
of  every  modern  extravagance,  however  sanctioned; 
and  though  complacently  viewing  her  daughter's 
good  looks,  would  give  but  a  qualified  admiration; 
and  Mr.  Edwards,  not  less  satisfied  with  Mary, 
paid  some  compliments  of  good-humored  gallantry 
to  Emma  at  her  expense.  The  discussion  led  to 
more  intimate  remarks,  and  Miss  Edwards  gently 
asked  Emma  if  she  was  not  often  reckoned  very 
like  her  youngest  brother.  Emma  thought  she 
could  perceive  a  faint  blush  accompany  the  ques- 
tion, and  there  seemed  something  still  more  suspi- 
cious in  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Edwards  took  up 
the  subject. 

"  You  are  paying  Miss  Emma  no  great  compli- 
ment, I  think,  Mary,"  said  he,  hastily.  "Mr. 
Sam  Watson  is  a  very  good  sort  of  young  man, 
and  I  dare  say  a  very  clever  surgeon;  but  his 
complexion  has  been  rather  too  much  exposed  to 
all  weathers  to  make  a  likeness  to  him  very 
flattering." 

Mary  apologized,  in  some  confusion,  — 

"She  had  not  thought  a  strong  likeness  at  all 
incompatible  with  very  different  degrees  of  beauty. 
There  might  be  resemblance  in  countenance,  and 
the  complexion  and  even  the  features  be  very 
unlike." 

"I  know  nothing  of  my  brother's  beauty," 
said  Emma,  "for  I  have  not  seen  him  since  he 


THE  WATSONS.  115 

was  seven  years  old;  but  my  father  reckons  us 
alike." 

"Mr.  Watson! "  cried  Mr.  Edwards;  "well, 
you  astonish  me.  There  is  not  the  least  likeness 
in  the  world;  your  brother's  eyes  are  gray,  yours 
are  brown;  he  has  a  long  face  and  a  wide  mouth. 
My  dear,  do  you  perceive  the  least  resemblance  ?" 

"Not  the  least:  Miss  Emma  Watson  puts  me 
very  much  in  mind  of  her  eldest  sister,  and  some- 
times I  see  a  look  of  Miss  Penelope,  and  once  or 
twice  there  has  been  a  glance  of  Mr.  Robert,  but  I 
cannot  perceive  any  likeness  to  Mr.  Samuel." 

"I  see  the  likeness  between  her  and  Miss 
Watson,"  replied  Mr.  Edwards,  "very  strongly, 
but  I  am  not  sensible  of  the  others.  I  do  not 
much  think  she  is  like  any  of  the  family  but  Miss 
Watson;  but  I  am  very  sure  there  is  no  resem- 
blance between  her  and  Sam." 

This  matter  was  settled,  and  they  went  to 
dinner. 

"Your  father,  Miss  Emma,  is  one  of  my  oldest 
friends,"  said  Mr.  Edwards,  as  he  helped  her  to 
wine,  when  they  were  drawn  round  the  fire  to 
enjoy  their  dessert.  "We  must  drink  to  his 
better  health.  It  is  a  great  concern  to  me,  I 
assure  you,  that  he  should  be  such  an  invalid.  I 
know  nobody  who  likes  a  game  of  cards,  in  a 
social  way,  better  than  he  does,  and  very  few 
people  who  play  a  fairer  rubber.  It  is  a  thousand 
pities  that  he  should  be  so  deprived  of  the  pleas- 
ure. For  now  we  have  a  quiet  little  Whist  Club, 
that  meets  three  times  a  week  at  the  White  Hart ; 
and  if  he  could  but  have  his  health,  how  much  he 
would  enjoy  it! " 


116  THE   WATSONS. 

"I  dare  say  he  would,  sir;  and  I  wish,  with  all 
my  heart,  he  were  equal  to  it." 

"Your  club  would  be  better  fitted  for  an  in- 
valid," said  Mrs.  Edwards,  "if  you  did  not  keep 
it  up  so  late."  This  was  an  old  grievance. 

"  So  late,  my  dear!  What  are  you  talking  of?  " 
cried  the  husband,  with  sturdy  pleasantry.  "We 
are  always  at  home  before  midnight.  They  would 
laugh  at  Osborne  Castle  to  hear  you  call  that 
late;  they  are  but  just  rising  from  dinner  at 
midnight." 

"That  is  nothing  to  the  purpose,"  retorted  the 
lady,  calmly.  "  The  Osbornes  are  to  be  no  rule 
for  us.  You  had  better  meet  every  night,  and 
break  up  two  hours  sooner." 

So  far  the  subject  was  very  often  carried;  but 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edwards  were  so  wise  as  never  to 
pass  that  point;  and  Mr.  Edwards  now  turned  to 
something  else.  He  had  lived  long  enough  in 
the  idleness  of  a  town  to  become  a  little  of  a 
gossip,  and  having  some  anxiety  to  know  more  of 
the  circumstances  of  his  young  guest  than  had  j^et 
reached  him,  he  began  with,  — 

"I  think,  Miss  Emma,  I  remember  your  aunt 
very  well,  about  thirty  years  ago;  I  am  pretty 
sure  I  danced  with  her  in  the  old  rooms  at 
Bath  the  year  before  I  married.  She  was  a 
very  fine  woman  then;  but  like  other  people,  I 
suppose,  she  is  grown  somewhat  older  since  that 
time.  I  hope  she  is  likely  to  be  \happy  in  her 
second  choice." 

"I  hope  so;  I  believe  so,  sir,"  said  Emma,  in 
some  agitation. 


THE  WATSONS.  117 

"  Mr.  Turner  had  not  been  dead  a  great  while, 
I  think?  " 

<(  About  two  years,   sir." 

' '  I  forget  what  her  name  is  now. ' ' 

"O'Brien." 

"Irish!  ah,  I  remember;  and  she  is  gone  to 
settle  in  Ireland.  I  do  not  wonder  that  you 
should  not  wish  to  go  with  her  into  that  country, 
Miss  Emma ;  but  it  must  be  a  great  deprivation  to 
her,  poor  lad}7 !  after  bringing  you  up  like  a  child 
of  her  own." 

"I  was  not  so  ungrateful,  sir,"  said  Emma, 
warmly,  "as  to  wish  to  be  anywhere  but  with  her. 
It  did  not  suit  Captain  O'Brien  that  I  should  be  of 
the  party." 

"Captain!"  repeated  Mrs.  Edwards.  "The 
gentleman  is  in  the  army  then  ?" 

"Yes,   ma'am." 

"Ay,  there  is  nothing  like  your  officers  for 
captivating  the  ladies,  young  or  old.  There  is  no 
resisting  a  cockade,  my  dear." 

"I  hope  there  is,"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  gravety, 
with  a  quick  glance  at  her  daughter;  and  Emma 
had  just  recovered  from  her  own  perturbation  in 
time  to  see  a  blush  on  Miss  Edwards'  cheek,  and 
in  remembering  what  Elizabeth  had  said  of  Cap- 
tain Hunter,  to  wonder  and  waver  between  his 
influence  and  her  brother's. 

"Elderly  ladies  should  be  careful  how  they 
make  a  second  choice,"  observed  Mr.  Edwards. 

"  Carefulness  and  discretion  should  not  be  con- 
fined to  elderly  ladies  or  to  a  second  choice," 
added  his  wife.  "They  are  quite  as  necessary  to 
young  ladies  in  their  first." 


118  THE  WATSONS. 

"Rather  more  so,  my  dear,"  replied  he;  " be- 
cause young  ladies  are  likely  to  feel  the  effects  of 
it  longer.  When  an  old  lady  plays  the  fool,  it  is 
not  in  the  course  of  nature  that  she  should  suffer 
from  it  many  years." 

Emma  drew  her  hand  across  her  eyes;  and  Mrs. 
Edwards,  in  perceiving  it,  changed  the  subject  to 
one  of  less  anxiety  to  all. 

With  nothing  to  do  but  to  expect  the  hour  of 
setting  off,  the  afternoon  was  long  to  the  two 
young  ladies;  and  though  Miss  Edwards  was 
rather  discomposed  at  the  very  early  hour  which 
her  mother  always  fixed  for  going,  that  early  hour 
itself  was  watched  for  with  some  eagerness.  The 
entrance  of  the  tea-things  at  seven  o'clock  was 
some  relief;  and  luckily  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edwards 
always  drank  a  dish  extraordinary  and  ate  an 
additional  muffin  when  they  were  going  to  sit  up 
late,  which  lengthened  the  ceremony  almost  to  the 
wished-for  moment. 

At  a  little  before  eight  o'clock  the  Tomlinsons' 
carriage  was  heard  to  go  by,  which  was  the  con- 
stant signal  for  Mrs.  Edwards  to  order  hers  to  the 
door;  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  the  party  were 
transported  from  the  quiet  and  warmth  of  a  snug 
parlor  to  the  bustle,  noise,  and  draughts  of  air 
of  a  broad  entrance  passage  of  an  inn.  Mrs. 
Edwards,  carefully  guarding  her  own  dress,  while 
she  attended  with  yet  greater  solicitude  to  the 
proper  security  of  her  young  charges'  shoulders 
and  throats,  led  the  way  up  the  wide  staircase, 
while  no  sound  of  a  ball  but  the  first  scrape  of  one 
violin  blessed  the  ears  of  her  followers;  and  Miss 


THE  WATSONS.  119 

Edwards,  on  hazarding  the  anxious  inquiry  of 
whether  there  were  many  people  come  yet,  was 
told  by  the  waiter,  as  she  knew  she  should,  that 
Mr.  Tomlinson's  family  were  in  the  room. 

In  passing  along  a  short  gallery  to  the  assembly- 
room,  brilliant  in  lights  before  them,  they  were  ac- 
costed by  a  young  man  in  a  morning-dress  and 
boots,  who  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  a  bed- 
chamber apparently  on  purpose  to  see  them  go  by. 

"  Ah!  Mrs.  Edwards,  how  do  you  do?  How  do 
you  do,  Miss  Edwards?  "  he  cried,  with  an  easy  air. 
'  *  You  are  determined  to  be  in  good  time,  I  see,  as 
usual.  The  candles  are  but  this  moment  lit." 

"I  like  to  get  a  good  seat  by  the  fire,  you  know, 
Mr.  Musgrave,"  replied  Mrs.  Edwards. 

"I  am  this  moment  going  to  dress,"  said  he. 
"  I  am  waiting  for  my  stupid  fellow.  We  shall 
have  a  famous  ball.  The  Osbornes  are  certainly 
coming;  you  may  depend  upon  that^  for  I  was  with 
Lord  Osborne  this  morning. " 

The  party  passed  on.  Mrs.  Edwards'  satin  gown 
swept  along  the  clean  floor  of  the  ballroom  to  the- 
fireplace  at  the  upper  end,  where  one  party  only 
were  formally  seated,  while  three  or  four  officers 
were  lounging  together,  passing  in  and  out  from 
the  adjoining  card-room.  A  very  stiff  meeting  be- 
tween these  near  neighbors  ensued;  and  as  soon  as 
they  were  all  duly  placed  again,  Emma,  in  a  low 
whisper,  which  became  the  solemn  scene,  said  to 
Miss  Edwards, — 

* '  The  gentleman  we  passed  in  the  passage  was 
Mr.  Musgrave,  then;  he  is  reckoned  remarkably 
agreeable,  I  understand?  " 


120  THE  WATSONS. 

Miss  Edwards  answered  hesitatingly,  "Yes;  he 
is  very  much  liked  by  many  people ;  but  we  are  not 
very  intimate/5 

"He  is  rich,  is  not  he?  " 

"He  has  about  eight  or  nine  hundred  a  year,  I 
believe.  He  came  into  possession  of  it  when  he 
was  very  young,  and  my  father  and  mother  think  it 
has  given  him  rather  an  unsettled  turn.  He  is  no 
favorite  with  them.7' 

The  cold  and  empty  appearance  of  the  room,  and 
the  demure  air  of  the  small  cluster  of  females  at 
one  end  of  it,  began  soon  to  give  way.  The  inspir- 
iting sound  of  other  carriages  was  heard,  and  con- 
tinual accessions  of  portly  chaperons  and  strings  of 
smartly  dressed  girls  were  received,  with  now  and 
then  afresh  gentleman  straggler,  who,  if  not  enough 
in  love  to  station  himself  near  any  fair  creature, 
seemed  glad  to  escape  into  the  card-room. 

Among  the  increasing  number  of  military  men, 
one  now  made  his  way  to  Miss  Edwards  with  an 
air  of  empressement  which  decidedly  said  to  her 
companion,  "I  am  Captain  Hunter;  "  and  Emma, 
who  could  not  but  watch  her  at  such  a  moment, 
saw  her  looking  rather  distressed,  but  by  no  means 
displeased,  and  heard  an  engagement  formed  for 
the  two  first  dances,  which  made  her  think  her 
brother  Sam's  a  hopeless  case. 

Emma  in  the  mean  while  was  not  unobserved  or 
unadmired  herself.  A  new  face,  and  a  very  pretty 
one,  could  not  be  slighted.  Her  name  was  whis- 
pered from  one  party  to  another;  and  no  sooner  had 
the  signal  been  given  by  the  orchestra's  striking  up 
a  favorite  air,  which  seemed  to  call  the  young  to 


THE  WATSONS.  121 

their  duty  and  people  the  centre  of  the  room,  than 
she  found  herself  engaged  to  dance  with  a  brother 
officer,  introduced  by  Captain  Hunter. 

Emma  Watson  was  not  more  than  of  the  middle 
height,  well  made  and  plump,  with  an  air  of 
healthy  vigor.  Her  skin  was  very  brown,  but 
clear,  smooth,  and  glowing,  which,  with  a  lively 
eye,  a  sweet  smile,  and  an  open  countenance,  gave 
beauty  to  attract,  and  expression  to  make  that 
beauty  improve  on  acquaintance.  Having  no  rea- 
son to  be  dissatisfied  with  her  partner,  the  evening 
began  very  pleasantly  to  her,  and  her  feelings  per- 
fectly coincided  with  the  reiterated  observation  of 
others,  that  it  was  an  excellent  ball.  The  two  first 
dances  were  not  quite  over  when  the  returning 
sound  of  carriages  after  a  long  interruption  called 
general  notice.  "The  Osbornes  are  coming! 
The  Osbornes  are  coming  !  "  was  repeated  round 
the  room.  After  some  minutes  of  extraordinary 
bustle  without  and  watchful  curiosity  within,  the 
important  party,  preceded  by  the  attentive  master 
of  the  inn  to  open  a  door  which  was  never  shut, 
made  their  appearance.  They  consisted  of  Lady 
Osborne;  her  son,  Lord  Osborne;  her  daughter, 
Miss  Osborne;  Miss  Carr,  her  daughter's  friend; 
Mr.  Howard,  formerly  tutor  to  Lord  Osborne,  now 
clergyman  of  the  parish  in  which  the  castle  stood; 
Mrs.  Blake,  a  widow  sister,  who  lived  with  him ; 
her  son,  a  fine  boy  of  ten  years  old ;  and  Mr.  Tom 
Musgrave,  who  probably,  imprisoned  within  his 
own  room,  had  been  listening  in  bitter  impatience 
to  the  sound  of  the  music  for  the  last  half-hour. 
In  their  progress  up  the  room  they  paused  almost 


122  THE  WATSONS. 

immediately  behind  Emma  to  receive  the  compli- 
ments of  some  acquaintance;  and  she  heard  Lady 
Osborne  observe  that  they  had  made  a  point  of 
coming  early  for  the  gratification  of  Mrs.  Blake's 
little  boy,  who  was  uncommonly  fond  of  dancing. 
Emma  looked  at  them  all  as  they  passed,  but  chiefly 
and  with  most  interest  on  Tom  Musgrave,  who  was 
certainly  a  genteel,  good-looking  young  man.  Of 
the  females  Lady  Osborne  had  by  much  the  finest 
person;  though  nearly  fifty,  she  was  very  hand- 
some, and  had  all  the  dignity  of  rank. 

Lord  Osborne  was  a  very  fine  young  man;  but 
there  was  an  air  of  coldness,  of  carelessness,  even 
of  awkwardness  about  him,  which  seemed  to  speak 
him  out  of  his  element  in  a  ball-room.  He  came, 
in  fact,  only  because  it  was  judged  expedient  for 
him  to  please  the  borough;  he  was  not  fond  of 
women's  company,  and  he  never  danced.  Mr, 
Howard  was  an  agreeable-looking  man,  a  little 
more  than  thirty. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  two  dances  Emma 
found  herself,  she  knew  not  how,  seated  amongst 
the  Osbornes'  set;  and  she  was  immediately  struck 
with  the  fine  countenance  and  animated  gestures  of 
the  little  boy,  as  he  was  standing  before  his  mother, 
considering  when  they  should  begin. 

"You  will  not  be  surprised  at  Charles's  impa- 
tience,77 said  Mrs.  Blake,  a  lively,  pleasant-looking 
little  woman  of  five  or  six  and  thirty,  to  a  lady  who 
was  standing  near  her,  "when  you  know  what  a 
partner  he  is  to  have.  Miss  Osborne  has  been  so 
very  kind  as  to  promise  to  dance  the  two  first 
dances  with  him." 


THE   WATSONS.  123 

" Oh,  yes!  we  have  been  engaged  this  week," 
cried  the  boy,  "and  we  are  to  dance  down  every 
couple." 

On  the  other  side  of  Emma,  Miss  Osborne,  Miss 
Carr,  and  a  party  of  young  men  were  standing 
engaged  in  very  lively  consultation ;  and  soon  after- 
wards she  saw  the  smartest  officer  of  the  set  walk- 
ing off  to  the  orchestra  to  order  the  dance,  while 
Miss  Osborne,  passing  before  her  to  her  little  ex- 
pecting partner,  hastily  said:  "  Charles,  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  not  keeping  my  engagement,  but 
I  am  going  to  dance  these  two  dances  with  Colonel 
Beresford.  I  know  you  will  excuse  me,  and  I  will 
certainly  dance  with  you  after  tea;"  and  without 
staying  for  an  answer,  she  turned  again  to  Miss 
Carr,  and  in  another  minute  was  led  by  Colonel 
Beresford  to  begin  the  set.  If  the  poor  little  boy's 
face  had  in  its  happiness  been  interesting  to 
Emma,  it  was  infinitely  more  so  under  this  sudden 
reverse;  he  stood  the  picture  of  disappointment, 
with  crimsoned  cheeks,  quivering  lips,  and  eyes 
bent  on  the  floor.  His  mother,  stifling  her  own 
mortification,  tried  to  soothe  his  with  the  prospect 
of  Miss  Osborne's  second  promise;  but  though  he 
contrived  to  utter,  with  an  effort  of  boyish  bravery, 
"Oh,  I  do  not  mind  it!  "  it  was  very  evident,  by 
the  unceasing  agitation  of  his  features,  that  he 
minded  it  as  much  as  ever. 

Emma  did  not  think  or  reflect;  she  felt  and 
acted.  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  dance  with  you, 
sir,  if  you  like  it,"  said  she,  holding  out  her  hand 
with  the  most  unaffected  good-humor.  The  boy,  in 
one  moment  restored  to  all  his  first  delight,  looked 


124  THE   WATSONS. 

joyfully  at  his  mother;  and  stepping  forwards  with 
an  honest,  simple  "Thank  you,  ma'am,''  was 
instantly  ready  to  attend  his  new  acquaintance. 
The  thankfulness  of  Mrs.  Blake  was  more  diffuse; 
with  a  look  most  expressive  of  unexpected  pleasure 
and  lively  gratitude,  she  turned  to  her  neighbor 
with  repeated  and.  fervent  acknowledgments  of  so 
great  and  condescending  a  kindness  to  her  boy. 
Emma  with  perfect  truth  could  assure  her  that  she 
could  not  be  giving  greater  pleasure  than  she  felt 
herself;  and  Charles  being  provided  with  his  gloves 
and  charged  to  keep  them  on,  they  joined  the  set 
which  was  now  rapidly  forming,  with  nearly  equal 
complacency.  It  was  a  partnership  which  could 
not  be  noticed  without  surprise.  It  gained  her  a 
broad  stare  from  Miss  Osborne  and  Miss  Carr  as 
they  passed  her  in  the  dance.  "Upon  my  word, 
Charles,  you  are  in  luck,7'  said  the  former,  as  she 
turned  him;  "you  have  got  a  better  partner  than 
me;  "  to  which  the  happy  Charles  answered 
"Yes." 

Tom  Musgrave,  who  was  dancing  with  Miss 
Carr,  gave  her  many  inquisitive  glances ;  and  after 
a  time  Lord  Osborne  himself  came,  and  under  pre- 
tence of  talking  to  Charles,  stood  to  look  at  his 
.partner.  Though  rather  distressed  by  such  obser- 
vation, Emma  could  not  repent  what  she  had  done, 
so  happy  had  it  made  both  the  boy  and  his  mother; 
the  latter  of  whom  was  continually  making  oppor- 
tunities of  addressing  her  with  the  warmest  civ- 
ility. Her  little  partner  she  found,  though  bent 
chiefly  on  dancing,  was  not  unwilling  to  speak, 
when  her  questions  or  remarks  gave  him  anything 


THE  WATSONS.  125 

to  say;  and  she  learnt,  by  a  sort  of  inevitable  in- 
quiry, that  he  had  two  brothers  and  a  sister,  that 
they  and  their  mamma  all  lived  with  his  uncle  at 
Wickstead,  that  his  uncle  taught  him  Latin,  that 
he  was  very  fond  of  riding,  and  had  a  horse  of  his 
own  given  him  by  Lord  Osborne;  and  that  he 
had  been  out  once  already  with  Lord  Osboriie's 
hounds. 

At  the  end  of  these  dances  Emma  found  they 
were  to  drink  tea;  Miss  Edwards  gave  her  a  cau- 
tion to  be  at  hand,  in  a  manner  which  convinced 
her  of  Mrs.  Edwards'  holding  it  very  important  to 
have  them  both  close  to  her  when  she  moved  into 
the  tea-room;  and  Emma  was  accordingly  on  the 
alert  to  gain  her  proper  station.  It  was  always  the 
pleasure  of  the  company  to  have  a  little  bustle  and 
crowd  when  they  adjourned  for  refreshment.  The 
tea-room  was  a  small  room  within  the  card-room; 
and  in  passing  through  the  latter,  where  the 
passage  was  straitened  by  tables,  Mrs.  Edwards 
and  her  party  were  for  a  few  moments  hemmed  in. 
It  happened  close  by  Lady  Osborne's  casino-table; 
Mr.  Howard,  who  belonged  to  it,  spoke  to  his  ne- 
phew; and  Emma,  on  perceiving  herself  the  object 
of  attention  both  to  Lady  Osborne  and  him,  had 
just  turned  away  her  eyes  in  time  to  avoid 
seeming  to  hear  her  young  companion  exclaim 
delightedly  aloud,  "Oh,  uncle!  do  look  at  my 
partner;  she  is  so  pretty!  "  As  they  were  imme- 
diately in  motion  again,  however,  Charles  was 
hurried  off  without  being  able  to  receive  his 
uncle's  suffrage.  On  entering  the  tea-room,  in 
which  two  long  tables  were  prepared,  Lord  Osborne 


126  THE  WATSONS. 

was  to  be  seen  quite  alone  at  the  end  of  one,  as  if 
retreating  as  far  as  he  could  from  the  ball,  to  en- 
joy his  own  thoughts  and  gape  without  restraint. 
Charles  instantly  pointed  him  out  to  Emma. 
"There  'a  Lord  Osborne;  let  you  and  I  go  and  sit 
by  him." 

"No,  no,"  said  Emma,  laughing;  "you  must 
sit  with  my  friends." 

Charles  was  now  free  enough  to  hazard  a  few 
questions  in  his  turn.  "  What  o'clock  was  it?  " 

"  Eleven." 

"Eleven!  and  I  am  not  at  all  sleepy.  Mamma 
said  I  should  be  asleep  before  ten.  Do  you  think 
Miss  Osborne  will  keep  her  word  with  me  when 
tea  is  over?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  I  suppose  so;  "  though  she  felt  that 
she  had  no  better  reason  to  give  than  that  Miss 
Osborne  had  not  kept  it  before. 

"  When  shall  you  come  to  Osborne  Castle?" 

"Never,  probably.  I  am  not  acquainted  with 
the  family." 

"But  you  may  come  to  Wickstead  and  see 
mamma,  and  she  can  take  you  to  the  castle.  There 
is  a  monstrous  curious  stuffed  fox  there,  and  a 
badger;  anybody  would  think  they  were  alive.  It 
is  a  pity  you  should  not  see  them." 

On  rising  from  tea  there  was  again  a  scramble 
for  the  pleasure  of  being  first  out  of  the  room, 
which  happened  to  be  increased  by  one  or  two  of 
the  card-parties  having  just  broken  up,  and  the 
players  being  disposed  to  move  exactly  the  differ- 
ent way.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Howard,  his 
sister  leaning  on  his  arm;  and  no  sooner  were  they 


THE   WATSONS.  127 

within  reach  of  Emma,  than  Mrs.  Blake,  calling 
her  notice  by  a  friendly  touch,  said,  "  Your  good- 
ness to  Charles,  my  dear  Miss  Watson,  brings  all 
his  family  upon  you.  Give  me  leave  to  introduce  my 
brother."  Emma  courtesied,  the  gentleman  bowed, 
made  a  hasty  request  for  the  honor  of  her  hand  in 
the  two  next  dances,  to  which  as  hasty  an  affirma- 
tive was  given,  and  they  were  immediately  impelled 
in  opposite  directions.  Emma  was  very  well  pleased 
with  the  circumstance ;  there  was  a  quietly  cheer- 
ful, gentlemanlike  air  in  Mr.  Howard  which  suited 
her;  and  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards  the  value  of 
her  engagement  increased,  when  as  she  was  sitting 
in  the  card-room,  somewhat  screened  by  a  door,  she 
heard  Lord  Osborne,  who  was  lounging  on  a  va- 
cant table  near  her,  call  Tom  Musgrave  towards 
him  and  say,  "  Why  do  not  you  dance  with  that 
beautiful  Emma  Watson?  I  want  you  to  dance 
with  her,  and  I  will  come  and  stand  by  you." 

"I  was  determined  on  it  this  very  moment,  my 
lord;  I  '11  be  introduced  and  dance  with  her 
directly." 

"Ay,  do;  and  if  you  find  she  does  not  want 
much  talking  to,  you  may  introduce  me  by  and 

by." 

"  Very  well,  my  lord ;  if  she  is  like  her  sisters, 
she  will  only  want  to  be  listened  to.  I  will  go 
this  moment.  I  shall  find  her  in  the  tea-room. 
That  stiff  old  Mrs.  Edwards  has  never  done  tea." 

Away  he  went,  Lord  Osborne  after  him;  and 
Emma  lost  no  time  in  hurrying  from  her  corner 
exactly  the  other  way,  forgetting  in  her  haste  that 
she  left  Mrs.  Edwards  behind. 


128  THE   WATSONS. 

"We  had  quite  lost  you/'  said  Mrs.  Edwards, 
who  followed  her  with  Mary  in  less  than  five  min- 
utes. "  If  you  prefer  this  room  to  the  other,  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be  here ;  but  we 
had  better  all  be  together. " 

Emma  was  saved  the  trouble  of  apologizing,  by 
their  being  joined  at  the  moment  by  Tom  Mus- 
grave,  who  requesting  Mrs.  Edwards  aloud  to  do 
him  the  honor  of  presenting  him  to  Miss  Emma 
Watson,  left  that  good  lady  without  any  choice  in 
the  business,  but  that  of  testifying  by  the  coldness 
of  her  manner  that  she  did  it  unwillingly.  The 
honor  of  dancing  with  her  was  solicited  without 
loss  of  time;  and  Emma,  however  she  might  like 
to  be  thought  a  beautiful  girl  by  lord  or  com- 
moner, was  so  little  disposed  to  favor  Tom  Mus- 
grave  himself  that  she  had  considerable  satisfaction 
in  avowing  her  previous  engagement.  He  was 
evidently  surprised  and  discomposed.  The  style 
of  her  last  partner  had  probably  led  him  to  believe 
her  not  overpowered  with  applications. 

"My  little  friend,  Charles  Blake/7  he  cried, 
"must  not  expect  to  engross  you  the  whole  even- 
ing. We  can  never  suffer  this.  It  is  against  the 
rules  of  the  assembly,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  never 
be  patronized  by  our  good  friend  here,  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards; she  is  by  much  too  nice  a  judge  of  de- 
corum to  give  her  license  to  such  a  dangerous 
particularity  —  " 

"I  am  not  going  to  dance  with  Master  Blake, 
sir!" 

The  gentleman,  a  little  disconcerted,  could  only 
hope  he  might  be  fortunate  another  time,  and  seem- 


THE   WATSONS.  129 

ing  unwilling  to  leave  her,  though  his  friend,  Lord 
Osborne,  was  waiting  in  the  doorway  for  the  result, 
as  Emma  with  some  amusement  perceived,  he  began 
to.  make  civil  inquiries  after  her  family. 

"  How  comes  it  that  we  have  not  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  your  sisters  here  this  evening?  Our  assem- 
blies have  been  used  to  be  so  well  treated  by  them 
that  we  do  not  know  how  to  take  this  neglect.'1 

"My  eldest  sister  is  the  only  one  at  home,  and 
she  could  not  leave  my  father." 

"Miss  Watson  the  only  one  at  home!  You  as- 
tonish me !  It  seems  but  the  day  before  yesterday 
that  I  saw  them  all  three  in  this  town.  But  I  am 
afraid  I  have  been  a  very  sad  neighbor  of  late.  I 
hear  dreadful  complaints  of  my  negligence  wher- 
ever I  go,  and  I  confess  it  is  a  shameful  length  of 
time  since  I  was  at  Stanton.  But  I  shall  now  en- 
deavor to  make  myself  amends  for  the  past.'7 

Emma's  calm  courtesy  in  reply  must  have  struck 
him  as  very  unlike  the  encouraging  warmth  he  had 
been  used  to  receive  from  her  sisters,  and  gave  him 
probably  the  novel  sensation  of  doubting  his  own 
influence,  and  of  wishing  for  more  attention  than 
she  bestowed.  The  dancing  now  recommenced; 
Miss  Carr  being  impatient  to  call,  everybody  was 
required  to  stand  up;  and  Tom  Musgrave's  curi- 
osity was  appeased  on  seeing  Mr.  Howard  come 
forward  and  claim  Emma's  hand. 

"That  will  do  as  well  for  me/'  was  Lord  Os- 
borne's  remark,  when  his  friend  carried  him  the 
news,  and  he  was  continually  at  Howard's  elbow 
during  the  two  dances. 

The  frequency  of  his  appearance  there  was  the 
9 


130  THE  WATSONS. 

only  unpleasant  part  of  the  engagement,  the  only 
objection  she  could  make  to  Mr.  Howard.  In  him- 
self, she  thought  him  as  agreeable  as  he  looked; 
though  chatting  on  the  commonest  topics,  he  had 
a  sensible,  unaffected  way  of  expressing  himself, 
which  made  them  all  worth  hearing,  and  she  only 
regretted  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  make  his 
pupil's  manners  as  unexceptionable  as  his  own. 
The  two  dances  seemed  very  short,  and  she  had  her 
partner's  authority  for  considering  them  so.  At 
their  conclusion  the  Osbornes  and  their  train  were 
all  on  the  move. 

"  We  are  off  at  last,"  said  his  lordship  to  Tom. 
"  How  much  longer  do  you  stay  in  this  heavenly 
place?  —  till  sunrise?  " 

"No,  faith!  my  lord;  I  have  had  quite  enough 
of  it,  I  assure  you.  I  shall  not  show  myself  here 
again  when  I  have  had  the  honor  of  attending  Lady 
Osborne  to  her  carriage.  I  shall  retreat  in  as  much 
secrecy  as  possible  to  the  most  remote  corner  of  the 
house,  where  I  shall  order  a  barrel  of  oysters,  and 
be  famously  snug." 

"Let  me  see  you  soon  at  the  castle,  and  bring 
me  word  how  she  looks  by  daylight." 

Emma  and  Mrs.  Blake  parted  as  old  acquaint- 
ance, and  Charles  shook  her  by  the  hand,  and 
wished  her  good-by  at  least  a  dozen  times.  From 
Miss  Osborne  and  Miss  Carr  she  received  some- 
thing like  a  jerking  courtesy  as  they  passed  her; 
even  Lady  Osborne  gave  her  a  look  of  complacency, 
and  his  lordship  actually  came  back,  after  the  others 
were  out  of  the  room,  to  "beg  her  pardon,"  and 
look  in  the  window-seat  behind  her  for  the  gloves 


THE   WATSONS.  131 

which  were  visibly  compressed  in  his  hand.  As 
Tom  Mus grave  was  seen  no  more,  we  may  suppose 
his  plan  to  have  succeeded,  and  imagine  him  mor- 
tifying with  his  barrel  of  oysters  in  dreary  soli- 
tude, or  gladly  assisting  the  landlady  in  her  bar  to 
make  fresh  negus  for  the  happy  dancers  above. 
Emma  could  not  help  missing  the  party  by  whom 
she  had  been,  though  in  some  respects  unpleas- 
antly, distinguished;  and  the  two  dances  which 
followed  and  concluded  the  ball  were  rather  flat  in 
comparison  with  the  others.  Mr.  Edwards  having 
played  with  good  luck,  they  were  some  of  the  last 
in  the  room. 

"  Here  we  are  back  again,  I  declare,"  said  Emma, 
sorrowfully,  as  she  walked  into  the  dining-room, 
where  the  table  was  prepared,  and  the  neat  upper 
maid  was  lighting  the  candles. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Edwards,  how  soon  it  is  at  an 
end!  I  wish  it  could  all  come  over  again.7' 

A  great  deal  of  kind  pleasure  was  expressed  in 
her  having  enjoyed  the  evening  so  much;  and  Mr. 
Edwards  was  as  warm  as  herself  in  the  praise  of 
the  fulness,  brilliancy,  and  spirit  of  the  meeting, 
though  as  he  had  been  fixed  the  whole  time  at  the 
same  table  in  the  same  room,  with  only  one  change 
of  chairs,  it  might  have  seemed  a  matter  scarcely 
perceived;  but  he  had  won  four  rubbers  out  of  five, 
and  everything  went  well.  His  daughter  felt  the 
advantage  of  this  gratified  state  of  mind,  in  the 
course  of  the  remarks  and  retrospections  which 
now  ensued  over  the  welcome  soup. 

"  How  came  you  not  to  dance  with  either  of  the 
Mr.  Tomlinsons,  Mary?  "  said  her  mother. 


132  THE  WATSONS. 

"I  was  always  engaged  when  they  asked  me." 

"I  thought  you  were  to  have  stood  up  with 
Mr.  James  the  two  last  dances;  Mrs.  Tomlinson 
told  me  he  was  gone  to  ask  you,  and  I  had  heard 
you  say  two  minutes  before  that  you  were  not 
engaged." 

"Yes,  hut  there  was  a  mistake;  I  had  misunder- 
stood. I  did  not  know  I  was  engaged.  I  thought 
it  had  been  for  the  two  dances  after,  if  we  stayed 
so  long;  but  Captain  Hunter  assured  me  it  was  for 
those  very  two." 

"  So  you  ended  with  Captain  Hunter,  Mary,  did 
you?  "  said  her  father.  "And  whom  did  you  begin 
with?  " 

"  Captain  Hunter,"  was  repeated  in  a  very  hum- 
ble tone. 

"  Hum!  That  is  being  constant,  however.  But 
who  else  did  you  dance  with?  " 

"Mr.  Norton  and  Mr.  Styles." 

"And  who  are  they?  " 

"  Mr.  Norton  is  a  cousin  of  Captain  Hunter's." 

"And  who  is  Mr.  Styles?" 

"  One  of  his  particular  friends." 

"All  in  the  same  regiment,"  added  Mrs. 
Edwards.  "Mary  was  surrounded  by  red-coats  all 
the  evening.  I  should  have  been  better  pleased  to 
see  her  dancing  with  some  of  our  old  neighbors,  I 
confess." 

"Yes,  yes;  we  must  not  neglect  our  old  neigh- 
bors. But  if  these  soldiers  are  quicker  than  other 
people  in  a  ball-room,  what  are  young  ladies  to 
do?" 

"  I  think  there  is  no  occasion  for  their  engaging 


THE  WATSONS.  133 

themselves  so  many  dances  before  hand,  Mr. 
Edwards.0 

"No,  perhaps  not;  but  I  remember,  my  dear, 
when  you  and  I  did  the  same." 

Mrs.  Edwards  said  no  more,  and  Mary  breathed 
again.  A  good  deal  of  good-humored  pleasantry 
followed;  and  Emma  went  to  bed  in  charming 
spirits,  her  head  full  of  Osbornes,  Blakes,  and 
Howards. 

The  next  morning  brought  a  great  many  visitors. 
It  was  the  way  of  the  place  always  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Edwards  the  morning  after  a  ball,  and  this  neigh- 
borly inclination  was  increased  in  the  present 
instance  by  a  general  spirit  of  curiosity  on  Emma's 
account,  as  everybody  wanted  to  look  again  at  the 
girl  who  had  been  admired  the  night  before  by 
Lord  Osborne.  Many  were  the  eyes,  and  various 
the  degrees  of  approbation  with  which  she  was 
examined.  Some  saw  no  fault,  and  some  no  beauty. 
With  some  her  brown  skin  was  the  annihilation  of 
every  grace,  and  others  could  never  be  persuaded 
that  she  was  half  so  handsome  as  Elizabeth  Wat- 
son had  been  ten  years  ago.  The  morning  passed 
quickly  away  in  discussing  the  merits  of  the  ball 
with  all  this  succession  of  company;  and  Emma 
was  at  once  astonished  by  finding  it  two  o'clock, 
and  considering  that  she  had  heard  nothing  of  her 
father's  chair.  After  this  discovery  she  had 
walked  twice  to  the  window  to  examine  the  street, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  asking  leave  to  ring  the 
bell  and  make  inquiries,  when  the  light  sound  of  a 
carriage  driving  up  to  the  door  set  her  heart  at 
ease.  She  stepped  again  to  the  window,  but 


134  THE  WATSONS. 

instead  of  the  convenient  though  very  un-smart 
family  equipage  perceived  a  neat  curricle.  Mr. 
Musgrave  was  shortly  afterwards  announced,  and 
Mrs.  Edwards  put  on  her  very  stiffest  look  at  the 
sound.  Not  at  all  dismayed,  however,  by  her  chill- 
ing air,  he  paid  his  compliments  to  each  of  the 
ladies  with  no  unbecoming  ease,  and  continuing  to 
address  Emma,  presented  her  a  note,  which  "he 
had  the  honor  of  bringing  from  her  sister,  but  to 
which  he  must  observe  a  verbal  postscript  from 
himself  would  be  requisite. " 

The  note,  which  Emma  was  beginning  to  read 
rather  before  Mrs.  Edwards  had  entreated  her 
to  use  no  ceremony,  contained  a  few  lines  from 
Elizabeth  importing  that  their  father,  in  conse- 
quence of  being  unusually  well,  had  taken  the 
sudden  resolution  of  attending  the  visitation  that 
day,  and  that  as  his  road  lay  quite  wide  from  D.,  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  come  home  till  the 
following  morning,  unless  the  Edwards  would  send 
her,  which  was  hardly  to  be  expected,  or  she  could 
meet  with  any  chance  conveyance,  or  did  not  mind 
walking  so  far.  She  had  scarcely  run  her  eye 
through  the  whole,  before  she  found  herself 
obliged  to  listen  to  Tom  Musgrave's  further 
account. 

"I  received  that  note  from  the  fair  hands  of 
Miss  Watson  only  ten  minutes  ago, "  said  he;  "I 
met  her  in  the  village  of  Stanton,  whither  my 
good  stars  prompted  me  to  turn  my  horses'  heads. 
She  was  at  that  moment  in  quest  of  a  person  to 
employ  on  the  errand,  and  I  was  fortunate  enough 
to  convince  her  that  she  could  not  find  a  more 


THE  WATSONS.  135 

willing  or  speedy  messenger  than  myself.  Kemem- 
ber,  I  say  nothing  of  my  disinterestedness.  My 
reward  is  to  be  the  indulgence  of  conveying  you 
to  Stanton  in  my  curricle.  Though  they  are  not 
written  down,  I  bring  your  sister's  orders  for  the 
same.7' 

Emma  felt  distressed;  she  did  not  like  the 
proposal,  —  she  did  not  wish  to  be  on  terms  of 
intimacy  with  the  proposer;  and  yet,  fearful  of 
encroaching  on  the  Edwards,  as  well  as  wishing  to 
go  home  herself,  she  was  at  a  loss  how  entirely  to 
decline  what  he  offered.  Mrs.  Edwards  continued 
silent,  either  not  understanding  the  case,  or  wait- 
ing to  see  how  the  young  lady's  inclination  lay. 
Emma  thanked  him,  but  professed  herself  very 
unwilling  to  give  him  so  much  trouble.  "  The 
trouble  was  of  course  honor,  pleasure,  delight,  — 
what  had  he  or  his  horses  to  do?"  Still  she 
hesitated,  —  "  She  believed  she  must  beg  leave  to 
decline  his  assistance;  she  was  rather  afraid  of  the 
sort  of  carriage.  The  distance  was  not  beyond  a 
walk."  Mrs.  Edward  was  silent  no  longer.  She 
inquired  into  the  particulars,  and  then  said,  "We 
shall  be  extremely  happy,  Miss  Emma,  if  you  can 
give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  till  to- 
morrow; but  if  you  cannot  conveniently  do  so,  our 
carriage  is  quite  at  your  service,  and  Mary  will  be 
pleased  with  the  opportunity  of  seeing  your  sister.'* 

This  was  precisely  what  Emma  had  longed  for, 
and  she  accepted  the  offer  most  thankfully,  acknowl- 
edging that  as  Elizabeth  was  entirely  alone,  it 
was  her  wish  to  return  home  to  dinner.  The  plan 
was  warmly  opposed  by  their  visitor,  — 


136  THE   WATSONS. 

"I  cannot  suffer  it,  indeed.  I  must  not  be 
deprived  of  the  happiness  of  escorting  you.  I 
assure  you  there  is  not  a  possibility  of  fear  with 
my  horses.  You  might  guide  them  yourself. 
Your  sisters  all  know  how  quiet  they  are;  they 
have  none  of  them  the  smallest  scruple  in  trusting 
themselves  with  me,  even  on  a  race-course.  Be- 
lieve me,"  added  he,  lowering  his  voice,  "you 
are  quite  safe,  — the  danger  is  only  mine." 

Emma  was  not  more  disposed  to  oblige  him  for 
all  this. 

"And  as  to  Mrs.  Edwards'  carriage  being  used 
the  day  after  a  ball,  it  is  a  thing  quite  out  of  rule, 
I  assure  you,  —  never  heard  of  before.  The  old 
coachman  will  look  as  black  as  his  horses,  — 
won't  he,  Miss  Edwards?" 

No  notice  was  taken.  The  ladies  were  silently 
firm,  and  the  gentleman  found  himself  obliged  to 
submit. 

"What  a  famous  ball  we  had  last  night!"  he 
cried,  after  a  short  pause.  "  How  long  did  you 
keep  it  up  after  the  Osbornes  and  I  went  away?" 

"  We  had  two  dances  more." 

"It  is  making  it  too  much  of  a  fatigue,  I  think, 
to  stay  so  late.  I  suppose  your  set  was  not  a  very 
full  one." 

"Yes;  quite  as  full  as  ever,  except  the  Osbornes. 
There  seemed  no  vacancy  anywhere;  and  every- 
body danced  with  uncommon  spirit  to  the  very 
last." 

Emma  said  this,  though  against  her  conscience. 

"Indeed!  perhaps  I  might  have  looked  in  upon 
you  again,  if  I  had  been  aware  of  as  much;  for  I 


THE  WATSONS.  137 

am  rather  fond  of  dancing  than  not.  Miss  Os- 
horne  is  a  charming  girl,  is  not  she?" 

"  I  do  not  think  her  handsome/ '  replied  Emma, 
to -whom  all  this  was  chiefly  addressed. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  not  critically  handsome,  but 
her  manners  are  delightful.  And  Fanny  Carr  is 
a  most  interesting  little  creature.  You  can  im- 
agine nothing  more  naive  or  piquantej  and  what  do 
you  think  of  Lord  Osborne,  Miss  Watson?  " 

"He  would  be  handsome  even  though  he  were 
not  a  lord,  and  perhaps,  better  bred;  more  desirous 
of  pleasing  and  showing  himself  pleased  in  a  right 
place." 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  severe  upon  my  friend! 
I  assure  you  Lord  Osborne  is  a  very  good  fellow." 

"I  do  not  dispute  his  virtues,  but  I  do  not  like 
his  careless  air." 

"If  it  were  not  a  breach  of  confidence,"  replied 
Tom,  with  an  important  look,  "perhaps  I  might 
be  able  to  win  a  more  favorable  opinion  of  poor 
Osborne." 

Emma  gave  him  no  encouragement,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  keep  his  friend's  secret.  He  was  also 
obliged  to  put  an  end  to  his  visit,  for  Mrs.  Ed- 
wards having  ordered  her  carriage,  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost  on  Emma's  side  in  preparing  for  it. 
Miss  Edwards  accompanied  her  home;  but  as  it 
was  dinner-hour  at  Stanton,  stayed  with  them  only 
a  few  minutes. 

"Now,  my  dear  Emma,"  said  Miss  Watson,  as 
soon  as  they  were  alone,  "you  must  talk  to  me  all 
the  rest  of  the  day  without  stopping,  or  I  shall  not 
be  satisfied;  but,  first  of  all,  Nanny  shall  bring  in 


138  THE  WATSONS. 

the  dinner.  Poor  thing!  You  will  not  dine  as 
you  did  yesterday,  for  we  have  nothing  but  some 
fried  beef.  How  nice  Mary  Edwards  looks  in  her 
new  pelisse !  And  now  tell  me  how  you  like  them 
all,  and  what  I  am  to  say  to  Sam.  I  have  begun 
my  letter  j  Jack  Stokes  is  to  call  for  it  to-morrow, 
for  his  uncle  is  going  within  a  mile  of  G-uildford 
next  day.77 

Nanny  brought  in  the  dinner. 
"We   will    wait    upon    ourselves,77   continued 
Elizabeth,  "  and  then  we  shall  lose  no  time.    And 
so   you   would   not   come   home   with   Tom   Mus- 
grave?77 

"No,  you  had  said  so  much  against  him  that  I 
could  not  wish  either  for  the  obligation  or  the 
intimacy  which  the  use  of  his  carriage  must  have 
created.  I  should  not  even  have  liked  the  appear- 
ance of  it.77 

"  You  did  very  right;  though  I  wonder  at  your 
forbearance,  and  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  done 
it  myself.  He  seemed  so  eager  to  fetch  you  that  I 
could  not  say  no,  though  it  rather  went  against 
me  to  be  throwing  you  together,  so  well  as  I  knew 
his  tricks ;  but  I  did  long  to  see  you,  and  it  was  a 
clever  way  of  getting  you  home.  Besides,  it  won7t 
do  to  be  too  nice.  Nobody  could  have  thought  of 
the  Edwards  letting  you  have  their  coach,  after  the 
horses  being  out  so  late.  But  what  am  I  to  say  to 
Sam?77 

"  If  you  are  guided  by  me,  you  will  not  encour- 
age him  to  think  of  Miss  Edwards.  The  father  is 
decidedly  against  him,  the  mother  shows  him  no 
favor,  and  I  doubt  his  having  any  interest  with 


THE  WATSONS.  139 

Mary.  She  danced  twice  with  Captain  Hunter, 
and  I  think  shows  him  in  general  as  much  encour- 
agement as  is  consistent  with  her  disposition  and 
the  circumstances  she  is  placed  in.  She  once 
mentioned  Sam,  and  certainly  with  a  little  confu- 
sion; but  that  was  perhaps  merely  owing  to  the 
consciousness  of  his  liking  her,  which  may  very 
probably  have  come  to  her  knowledge.7' 

"  Oh,  dear!  yes.  She  has  heard  enough  of  that 
from  us  all.  Poor  Sam!  he  is  out  of  luck  as  well 
as  other  people.  For  the  life  of  me,  Emma,  I 
cannot  help  feeling  for  those  that  are  crossed  in 
love.  Well,  now  begin,  and  give  me  an  account 
of  everything  as  it  happened. " 

Emma  obeyed  her,  and  Elizabeth  listened  with 
very  little  interruption  till  she  heard  of  Mr. 
Howard  as  a  partner. 

"  Dance  with  Mr.  Howard!  Good  heavens!  you 
don't  say  so!  Why  he  is  quite  one  of  the  great  and 
grand  ones.  Did  you  not  find  him  very  high?  " 

"His  manners  are  of  a  kind  to  give  me  much 
more  ease  and  confidence  than  Tom  Musgrave's." 

"Well,  go  on.  I  should  have  been  frightened 
out  of  my  wits  to  have  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  Osbornes'  set." 

Emma  concluded  her  narration. 

"And  so  you  really  did  not  dance  with  Tom 
Musgrave  at  all;  but  you  must  have  liked  him,  — 
you  must  have  been  struck  with  him  altogether." 

"  I  do  not  like  him,  Elizabeth.  I  allow  his 
person  and  air  to  be  good,  and  that  his  manners  to 
a  certain  point  —  his  address  rather  —  is  pleasing; 
but  I  see  nothing  else  to  admire  in  him.  On  the 


140  THE   WATSONS. 

contrary,  he  seems  very  vain,  very  conceited, 
absurdly  anxious  for  distinction,  and  absolutely 
contemptible  in  some  of  the  measures  he  takes  for 
being  so.  There  is  a  ridiculousness  about  him 
that  entertains  me ;  but  his  company  gives  me  no 
other  agreeable  emotion." 

"My  dearest  Emma!  you  are  like  nobody  else 
in  the  world.  It  is  well  Margaret  is  not  by.  You 
do  not  offend  me,  though  I  hardly  know  how  to 
believe  you;  but  Margaret  would  never  forgive 
such  words. " 

"  I  wish  Margaret  could  have  heard  him  profess 
his  ignorance  of  her  being  out  of  the  country;  he 
declared  it  seemed  only  two  days  since  he  had  seen 
her." 

"Ay,  that  is  just  like  him;  and  yet  this  is  the 
man  she  will  fancy  so  desperately  in  love  with 
her.  He  is  no  favorite  of  mine,  as  you  well  know, 
Emma;  but  you  must  think  him  agreeable.  Can 
you  lay  your  hand  on  your  heart,  and  say  you  do 
not?" 

"  Indeed,  I  can,  both  hands;  and  spread  them  to 
their  widest  extent. " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  the  man  you  do  think 
agreeable." 

"His  name  is  Howard." 

"Howard!  Dear  me;  I  cannot  think  of  him 
but  as  playing  cards  with  Lady  Osborne,  and  look- 
ing proud.  I  must  own,  however,  that  it  is  a 
relief  to  me  to  find  you  can  speak  as  you  do  of 
Tom  Musgrave.  My  heart  did  misgive  me  that 
you  would  like  him  too  well.  You  talked  so 
stoutly  beforehand,  that  I  was  sadly  afraid  your 


THE  WATSONS.  141 

brag  would  be  punished.  I  only  hope  it  will  last, 
and  that  he  will  not  come  on  to  pay  you  much 
attention.  It  is  a  hard  thing  for  a  woman  to 
stand  against  the  flattering  ways  of  a  man  when 
he  is  bent  upon  pleasing  her." 

As  their  quietly  sociable  little  meal  concluded, 
Miss  Watson  could  not  help  observing  how  com- 
fortably it  had  passed. 

"It  is  so  delightful  to  me,"  said  she,  "  to  have 
things  going  on  in  peace  and  good-humor.  No- 
body can  tell  how  much  I  hate  quarrelling.  Now, 
though  we  have  had  nothing  but  fried  beef,  how 
good  it  has  all  seemed!  I  wish  everybody  were  as 
easily  satisfied  as  you;  but  poor  Margaret  is  very 
snappish,  and  Penelope  owns  she  would  rather  have 
quarrelling  going  on  than  nothing  at  all." 

Mr.  Watson  returned  in  the  evening  not  the 
worse  for  the  exertion  of  the  day,  and,  conse- 
quently, pleased  with  what  he  had  done,  and  glad 
to  talk  of  it  over  his  own  fireside.  Emma  had  not 
foreseen  any  interest  to  herself  in  the  occurrences 
of  a  visitation;  but  when  she  heard  Mr.  Howard 
spoken  of  as  the  preacher,  and  as  having  given 
them  an  excellent  sermon,  she  could  not  help 
listening  with  a  quicker  ear. 

"  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  heard  a  discourse 
more  to  my  mind,"  continued  Mr.  Watson,  "or 
one  better  delivered.  He  reads  extremely  well, 
with  great  propriety,  and  in  a  very  impressive 
manner,  and  at  the  same  time  without  any  theat- 
rical grimace  or  violence.  I  own  I  do  not  like 
much  action  in  the  pulpit;  I  do  not  like  the 
studied  air  and  artificial  inflexions  of  voice  which 


142  THE  WATSONS. 

your  very  popular  and  most  admired  preachers 
generally  have.  A  simple  delivery  is  much  bet- 
ter calculated  to  inspire  devotion,  and  shows  a 
much  better  taste.  Mr.  Howard  read  like  a 
scholar  and  a  gentleman." 

"  And  what  had  you  for  dinner,  sir?  "  said  his 
eldest  daughter. 

He  related  the  dishes,  and  told  what  he  had  ate 
himself. 

"  Upon  the  whole,'7  he  added,  "I  have  had  a 
very  comfortable  day.  My  old  friends  were  quite 
surprised  to  see  me  amongst  them,  and  I  must  say 
that  everybody  paid  me  great  attention,  and 
seemed  to  feel  for  me  as  an  invalid.  They  would 
make  me  sit  near  the  fire;  and  as  the  partridges 
were  pretty  high,  Dr.  Richards  would  have  them 
sent  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  "that 
they  might  not  offend  Mr.  Watson/'  which  I 
thought  very  kind  of  him.  But  what  pleased  me 
as  much  as  anything  was  Mr.  Howard's  attention. 
There  is  a  pretty  steep  flight  of  steps  up  to  the 
room  we  dine  in,  which  do  not  quite  agree  with 
my  gouty  foot;  and  Mr.  Howard  walked  by  me 
from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  and  would  make  me 
take  his  arm.  It  struck  me  as  very  becoming  in 
so  young  a  man ;  but  I  am  sure  I  had  no  claim  to 
expect  it,  for  I  never  saw  him  before  in  my  life.  By 
the  by,  he  inquired  after  one  of  my  daughters ;  but  I 
do  not  know  which.  I  suppose  you  know  among 
yourselves.'7 

On  the  third  day  after  the  ball,  as  Nanny,  at 
five  minutes  before  three,  was  beginning  to  bustle 


THE  WATSONS.  143 

into  the  parlor  with  the  tray  and  knife-case,  she 
was  suddenly  called  to  the  front  door  by  the  sound 
of  as  smart  a  rap  as  the  end  of  a  riding-whip  could 
give ;  and  though  charged  by  Miss  Watson  to  let 
nobody  in,  returned  in  half  a  minute  with  a  look 
of  awkward  dismay  to  hold  the  parlor  door  open 
for  Lord  Osborne  and  Tom  Musgrave.  The  sur- 
prise of  the  young  ladies  may  be  imagined.  No 
visitors  would  have  been  welcome  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, but  such  visitors  as  these,  —  such  an  one  as 
Lord  Osborne  at  least,  a  nobleman  and  a  stranger, 
was  really  distressing. 

He  looked  a  little  embarrassed  himself,  as,  on 
being  introduced  by  his  easy,  voluble  friend,  he 
muttered  something  of  doing  himself  the  honor 
of  waiting  upon  Mr.  Watson.  Though  Emma 
could  not  but  take  the  compliment  of  the  visit  to 
herself,  she  was  very  far  from  enjoying  it.  She 
felt  all  the  inconsistency  of  such  an  acquaintance 
with  the  very  humble  style  in  which  they  were 
obliged  to  live;  and  having  in  her  aunt's  family 
been  used  to  many  of  the  elegancies  of  life,  was 
fully  sensible  of  all  that  must  be  open  to  the  ridi- 
cule of  richer  people  in  her  present  home.  Of  the 
pain  of  such  feelings,  Elizabeth  knew  very  little. 
Her  simple  mind,  or  juster  reason,  saved  her  from 
such  mortification ;  and  though  shrinking  under  a 
general  sense  of  inferiority,  she  felt  no  particular 
shame.  Mr.  Watson,  as  the  gentleman  had  al- 
ready heard  from  Nanny,  was  not  well  enough  to 
be  down-stairs.  With  much  concern  they  took 
their  seats;  Lord  Osborne  near  Emma,  and  the 
convenient  Mr.  Musgrave,  in  high  spirits  at  his 


144  THE   WATSONS. 

own  importance,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace, 
with  Elizabeth.  He  was  at  no  loss  for  words; 
but  when  Lord  Osborne  had  hoped  that  Emma  had 
not  caught  cold  at  the  ball,  he  had  nothing  more  to 
say  for  some  time,  and  could  only  gratify  his  eye 
by  occasional  glances  at  his  fair  companion. 
Emma  was  not  inclined  to  give  herself  much 
trouble  for  his  entertainment;  and  after  hard 
labor  of  mind,  he  produced  the  remark  of  its  being 
a  very  fine  day,  and  followed  it  up  with  the 
question  of,  "Have  you  been  walking  this 
morning?  " 

"No,  my  lord;   we  thought  it  too  dirty." 

"You  should  wear  half-boots."  After  another 
pause :  "  Nothing  sets  off  a  neat  ankle  more  than 
a  half-boot;  nankeen,  galoshed  with  black,  looks 
very  well.  Do  not  you  like  half -boots?  }) 

"  Yes;  but  unless  they  are  so  stout  as  to  injure 
their  beauty,  they  are  not  fit  for  country  walk- 
ing." 

' '  Ladies  should  ride  in  dirty  weather.  Do  you 
ride?" 

"No,  my  lord." 

"  I  wonder  every  lady  does  not;  a  woman  never 
looks  better  than  on  horseback." 

"But  every  woman  may  not  have  the  inclina- 
tion or  the  means." 

"  If  they  knew  how  much  it  became  them,  they 
would  all  have  the  inclination;  and  I  fancy,  Miss 
Watson,  when  once  they  had  the  inclination,  the 
means  would  soon  follow." 

' i  Your  lordship  thinks  we  always  have  our  own 
way.  That  is  a  point  on  which  ladies  and  gentle- 


THE  WATSONS.  145 

men  have  long  disagreed;  but  without  pretending 
to  decide  it,  I  may  say  that  there  are  some  circum- 
stances which  even  women  cannot  control.  Fe- 
male economy  will  do  a  great  deal,  my  lord;  but  it 
cannot  turn  a  small  income  into  a  large  one." 

Lord  Osborne  was  silenced.  Her  manner  had 
been  neither  sententious  nor  sarcastic;  but  there 
was  a  something  in  its  mild  seriousness,  as  well  as 
in  the  words  themselves,  which  made  his  lordship 
think;  and  when  he  addressed  her  again,  it  was 
with  a  degree  of  considerate  propriety  totally  un- 
like the  half-awkward,  half-fearless  style  of  his 
former  remarks.  It  was  a  new  thing  with  him  to 
wish  to  please  a  woman;  it  was  the  first  time  that 
he  had  ever  felt  what  was  due  to  a  woman  in 
Emma's  situation ;  but  as  he  was  wanting  neither 
in  sense  nor  a  good  disposition,  he  did  not  feel  it 
without  effect. 

"  You  have  not  been  long  in  this  country,  I  un- 
derstand," said  he,  in  the  tone  of  a  gentleman. 
"I  hope  you  are  pleased  with  it." 

He  was  rewarded  by  a  gracious  answer,  and  a 
more  liberal  full  view  of  her  face  than  she  had  yet 
bestowed.  Unused  to  exert  himself,  and  happy  in 
contemplating  her,  he  then  sat  in  silence  for  some 
minutes  longer,  while  Tom  Musgrave  was  chatter- 
ing to  Elizabeth;  till  they  were  interrupted  by 
Nanny's  approach,  who,  half-opening  the  door  and 
putting  in  her  head,  said,  — 

"  Please,  ma'am,  master  wants  to  know  why  he 
be  n't  to  have  his  dinner?  " 

The  gentlemen,  who  had  hitherto  disregarded 
every  symptom,  however  positive,  of  the  nearness 
10 


146  THE  WATSONS. 

of  that  meal,  now  jumped  up  with  apologies,  while 
Elizabeth  called  briskly  after  Nanny  to  take  up 
the  fowls. 

"I  am  sorry  it  happens  so,7'  she  added,  turning 
good-humoredly  towards  Musgrave,  "but  you 
know  what  early  hours  we  keep." 

Tom  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself;  he  knew  it 
very  well,  and  such  honest  simplicity,  such  shame- 
less truth,  rather  bewildered  him.  Lord  Osborne's 
parting  compliments  took  some  time,  his  inclina- 
tion for  speech  seeming  to  increase  with  the  short- 
ness of  the  term  for  indulgence.  He  recommended 
exercise  in  defiance  of  dirt ;  spoke  again  in  praise 
of  half-boots;  begged  that  his  sister  might  be  al- 
lowed to  send  Emma  the  name  of  her  shoemaker; 
and  concluded  with  saying,  "My  hounds  will  be 
hunting  this  country  next  week.  I  believe  they 
will  throw  off  at  Stanton  Wood  on  Wednesday,  at 
nine  o'clock.  I  mention  this  in  hopes  of  your 
being  drawn  out  to  see  what 's  going  on.  If  the 
morning 's  tolerable,  pray  do  us  the  honor  of  giv- 
ing us  your  good  wishes  in  person." 

The  sisters  looked  on  each  other  with  astonish- 
ment when  their  visitors  had  withdrawn. 

"  Here's  an  unaccountable  honor!  "  cried  Eliza- 
beth, at  last.  "  Who  would  have  thought  of  Lord 
Osborne's  coming  to  Stanton?  He  is  very  hand- 
some ;  but  Tom  Musgrave  looks  all  to  nothing  the 
smartest  and  most  fashionable  man  of  the  two.  I 
am  glad  he  did  not  say  anything  to  me;  I  would 
not  have  had  to  talk  to  such  a  great  man  for  the 
world.  Tom  was  very  agreeable,  was  not  he?  But 
did  you  hear  him  ask  where  Miss  Penelope  and 


THE  WATSONS.  147 

Miss  Margaret  were,  when  he  first  came  in?  It 
put  me  out  of  patience.  I  am  glad  Nanny  had  not 
laid  the  cloth,  however,  —  it  would  have  looked  so 
awkward;  just  the  tray  did  not  signify.'7  To  say 
that  Emma  was  not  flattered  by  Lord  Osborne's 
visit  would  be  to  assert  a  very  unlikely  thing  and 
describe  a  very  odd  young  lady;  but  the  gratifica- 
tion was  by  no  means  unalloyed :  his  coining  was 
a  sort  of  notice  which  might  please  her  vanity,  but 
did  not  suit  her  pride ;  and  she  would  rather  have 
known  that  he  wished  the  visit  without  presuming 
to  make  it,  than  have  seen  him  at  Stanton. 

Among  other  unsatisfactory  feelings  it  once  oc- 
curred to  her  to  wonder  why  Mr.  Howard  had  not 
taken  the  same  privilege  of  coming,  and  accom- 
panied his  lordship ;  but  she  was  willing  to  suppose 
that  he  had  either  known  nothing  about  it,  or  had 
declined  any  share  in  a  measure  which  carried 
quite  as  much  impertinence  in  its  form  as  good- 
breeding.  Mr.  Watson  was  very  far  from  being 
delighted  when  he  heard  what  had  passed;  a  little 
peevish  under  immediate  pain,  and  ill-disposed  to 
be  pleased,  he  only  replied,  — 

"Pooh!  pooh!  what  occasion  could  there  be  for 
Lord  Osborne's  coming?  I  have  lived  here  four- 
teen years  without  being  noticed  by  any  of  the 
family.  It  is  some  fooling  of  that  idle  fellow,  Tom 
Musgrave.  I  cannot  return  the  visit.  I  would 
not  if  I  could."  And  when  Tom  Musgrave  was 
met  with  again,  he  was  commissioned  with  a  mes- 
sage of  excuse  to  Osborne  Castle,  on  the  too-sufli- 
cient  plea  of  Mr.  Watson's  infirm  state  of  health. 

A  week  or  ten  days  rolled  quietly  away  after  this 


148  THE  WATSONS. 

visit  before  any  new  bustle  arose  to  interrupt  even 
for  half  a  day  the  tranquil  and  affectionate  inter- 
course of  the  two  sisters,  whose  mutual  regard  was 
increasing  with  the  intimate  knowledge  of  each 
other  which  such  intercourse  produced.  The  first 
circumstance  to  break  in  on  their  security  was  the 
receipt  of  a  letter  from  Croydon  to  announce  the 
speedy  return  of  Margaret,  and  a  visit  of  two  or 
three  days  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Watson,  who 
undertook  to  bring  her  home,  and  wished  to  see 
their  sister  Emma. 

It  was  an  expectation  to  fill  the  thoughts  of  the 
sisters  at  Stanton  and  to  busy  the  hours  of  one  of 
them  at  least ;  for,  as  Jane  had  been  a  woman  of 
fortune,  the  preparations  for  her  entertainment 
were  considerable;  and  as  Elizabeth  had  at  all 
times  more  goodwill  than  method  in  her  guidance 
of  the  house,  she  could  make  no  change  without  a 
bustle.  An  absence  of  fourteen  years  had  made  all 
her  brothers  and  sisters  strangers  to  Emma,  but  in 
her  expectation  of  Margaret  there  was  more  than  the 
awkwardness  of  such  an  alienation;  she  had  heard 
things  which  made  her  dread  her  return;  and  the 
day  which  brought  the  party  to  Stanton  seemed  to 
her  the  probable  conclusion  of  almost  all  that  had 
been  comfortable  in  the  house. 

Robert  Watson  was  an  attorney  at  Croydon,  in 
a  good  way  of  business;  very  well  satisfied  with 
himself  for  the  same,  and  for  having  married  the 
only  daughter  of  the  attorney  to  whom  he  had  been 
clerk,  with  a  fortune  of  six  thousand  pounds. 
Mrs.  Robert  was  not  less  pleased  with  herself  for 
having  had  that  six  thousand  pounds  and  for  being 


THE   WATSONS.  149 

now  in  possession  of  a  very  smart  house  in  Croy- 
don,  where  she  gave  genteel  parties  and  wore  fine 
clothes.  In  her  person  there  was  nothing  remark- 
able; her  manners  were  pert  and  conceited.  Mar- 
garet was  not  without  beauty;  she  had  a  slight 
pretty  figure,  and  rather  wanted  countenance  than 
good  features;  but  the  sharp  and  anxious  expres- 
sion of  her  face  made  her  beauty  in  general  little 
felt.  On  meeting  her  long-absent  sister,  as  on 
every  occasion  of  show,  her  manner  was  all  affec- 
tion and  her  voice  all  gentleness ;  continual  smiles 
and  a  very  slow  articulation  being  her  constant 
resource  when  determined  on  pleasing. 

She  was  now  "so  delighted  to  see  dear,  dear 
Emma,77  that  she  could  hardly  speak  a  word  in  a 
minute. 

"I  am  sure  we  shall  be  great  friends,'7  she  ob- 
served with  much  sentiment,  as  they  were  sitting 
together.  Emma  scarcely  knew  how  to  answer 
such  a  proposition,  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  spoken  she  could  not  attempt  to  equal.  Mrs. 
Robert  Watson  eyed  her  with  much  familiar 
curiosity  and  triumphant  compassion :  the  loss  of 
the  aunt's  fortune  was  uppermost  in  her  mind  at 
the  moment  of  meeting;  and  she  could  not  but  feel 
how  much  better  it  was  to  be  the  daughter  of  a 
gentleman  of  property  in  Croydon  than  the  niece 
of  an  old  woman  who  threw  herself  away  on  an 
Irish  captain.  Robert  was  carelessly  kind,  as 
became  a  prosperous  man  and  a  brother;  more 
intent  on  settling  with  the  post-boy,  inveighing 
against  the  exorbitant  advance  in  posting,  and 
pondering  over  a  doubtful  half-crown,  than  on 


150  THE  WATSONS 

welcoming  a  sister  who  was  no  longer  likely  to 
have  any  property  for  him  to  get  the  direction  of. 

"Your  road  through  the  village  is  infamous, 
Elizabeth,"  said  he;  "worse  than  ever  it  was. 
By  Heaven!  I  would  indict  it  if  I  lived  near  you. 
Who  is  surveyor  now?  " 

There  was  a  little  niece  at  Croydon  to  be  fondly 
inquired  after  by  the  kind-hearted  Elizabeth,  who 
regretted  very  much  her  not  being  of  the  party. 

"You  are  very  good,"  replied  her  mother, 
"  and  I  assure  you  it  went  very  hard  with  Augusta 
to  have  us  come  away  without  her.  I  was  forced 
to  say  we  were  only  going  to  church,  and  promise 
to  come  back  for  her  directly.  But  you  know  it 
would  not  do  to  bring  her  without  her  maid,  and 
I  am  as  particular  as  ever  in  having  her  properly 
attended  to." 

"Sweet  little  darling!"  cried  Margaret.  "It 
quite  broke  my  heart  to  leave  her." 

<  '  Then  why  was  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  run 
away  from  her  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Robert.  "  You  are 
a  sad,  shabby  girl.  I  have  been  quarrelling  with 
you  all  the  way  we  came,  have  not  I?  Such  a 
visit  as  this  I  never  heard  of!  You  know  how 
glad  we  are  to  have  any  of  you  with  us,  if  it  be  for 
months  together;  and  I  am  sorry  (with  a  witty 
smile)  we  have  not  been  able  to  make  Croydon 
agreeable  this  autumn." 

{  '  My  dearest  Jane,  do  not  overpower  me  with 
your  raillery.  You  know  what  inducements  I  had 
to  bring  me  home.  Spare  me,  I  entreat  you.  I 
am  no  match  for  your  arch  sallies." 

Well,  I  only  beg  you  will  not  set  your  neigh- 


" 


THE  WATSONS.  151 

bors  against  the  place.  Perhaps  Emma  may  he 
tempted  to  go  hack  with  us  and  stay  till  Christ- 
inas, if  you  don't  put  in  your  word." 

Emma  was  greatly  ohliged.  "I  assure  you  we 
have  very  good  society  at  Croydon.  I  do  not  much 
attend  the  halls,  they  are  rather  too  mixed;  but 
our  parties  are  very  select  and  good.  I  had  seven 
tables  last  week  in  my  drawing-room. " 

"  Are  you  fond  of  the  country?  How  do  you  like 
Stanton?" 

"  Very  much,"  replied  Emma,  who  thought  a 
comprehensive  answer  most  to  the  purpose.  She 
saw  that  her  sister-in-law  despised  her  immedi- 
ately. Mrs.  Robert  Watson  was  indeed  wonder- 
ing what  sort  of  a  home  Emma  could  possibly  hav£ 
been  used  to  in  Shropshire,  and  setting  it  down  as 
certain  that  the  aunt  could  never  have  had  six 
thousand  pounds. 

"  How  charming  Emma  is,"  whispered  Margaret 
to  Mrs.  Robert,  in  her  most  languishing  tone. 
Emma  was  quite  distressed  by  such  behavior;  and 
she  did  not  like  it  better  when  she  heard  Margaret 
five  minutes  afterwards  say  to  Elizabeth  in  a 
sharp,  quick  accent,  totally  unlike  the  first, 
( '  Have  you  heard  from  Pen  since  she  went  to 
Cliichester?  I  had  a  letter  the  other  day.  I  don't 
find  she  is  likely  to  make  anything  of  it.  I  fancy 
she  '11  come  back  *  Miss  Penelope,7  as  she  went." 

Such  she  feared  would  be  Margaret's  common 
voice  when  the  novelty  of  her  own  appearance  were 
over;  the  tone  of  artificial  sensibility  was  not 
recommended  by  the  idea.  The  ladies  were  invited 
upstairs  to  prepare  for  dinner. 


152  THE  WATSONS. 

"I  hope  you  will  find  things  tolerably  comfor 
able,  Jane,"  said  Elizabeth,  as  she  opened  tl 
door  of  the  spare  bedchamber. 

"My  good  creature/'  replied  Jane,  "use  r 
ceremony  with  me,  I  entreat  you.  I  am  one  < 
those  who  always  take  things  as  they  find  then 
I  hope  I  can  put  up  with  a  small  apartment  f< 
two  or  three  nights  without  making  a  piece  < 
work.  I  always  wish  to  be  treated  quite  6 
famille  when  I  come  to  see  you.  And  now  I  c 
hope  you  have  not  been  getting  a  great  dinner  f( 
us.  Remember  we  never  eat  suppers." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Margaret,  rather  quickly  1 
Emma,  "you  and  I  are  to  be  together;  Elizabet 
always  takes  care  to  have  a  room  to  herself." 

"No.     Elizabeth  gives  me  half  hers." 

"  Oh!  "  in  a  softened  voice,  and  rather  mortifie 
to  find  that  she  was  not  ill-used. 

"I  am  sorry  I  am  not  to  have  the  pleasure  < 
your  company,  especially  as  it  makes  me  nervoi 
to  be  much  alone." 

Emma  was  the  first  of  the  females  in  the  pa 
lor  again;  on  entering  it  she  found  her  broth* 
alone. 

"  So  Emma,"  said  he,  "  you  are  quite  a  strange 
at  home.  It  must  seem  odd  enough  for  you  to  I 
here.  A  pretty  piece  of  work  your  Aunt  Turnc 
has  made  of  it!  By  Heaven!  a  woman  shoul 
never  be  trusted  with  money.  I  always  said  sli 
ought  to  have  settled  something  on  you,  as  soon  s 
her  husband  died." 

"But  that  would  have  been  trusting  me  wit 
money,"  replied  Emma;  "and  I  am  a  woman  too. 


THE  WATSONS.  153 

"  It  might  have  been  secured  to  your  future  use, 
without  your  having  any  power  over  it  now. 
What  a  blow  it  must  have  been  upon  you !  To  find 
yourself,  instead  of  heiress  of  8,OOOZ.  or  9,000^., 
sent  back  a  weight  upon  your  family,  without  a 
sixpence.  I  hope  the  old  woman  will  smart  for 
it." 

"  Do  not  speak  disrespectfully  of  her;  she  was 
very  good  to  me,  and  if  she  has  made  an  imprudent 
choice,  she  will  suffer  more  from  it  herself  than 
I  can  possibly  do.'7 

"I  do  not  mean  to  distress  you,  but  you  know 
everybody  must  think  her  an  old  fool.  I  thought 
Turner  had  been  reckoned  an  extraordinarily  sen- 
sible, clever  man.  How  the  devil  came  he  to  make 
such  a  will?" 

"My  uncle's  sense  is  not  at  all  impeached  in 
my  opinion  by  his  attachment  to  my  aunt.  She 
had  been  an  excellent  wife  to  him.  The  most 
liberal  and  enlightened  minds  are  always  the  most 
confiding.  The  event  has  been  unfortunate;  but 
my  uncle's  memory  is,  if  possible,  endeared  to  me 
by  such  a  proof  of  tender  respect  for  my  aunt." 

"  That 's  odd  sort  of  talking.  He  might  have  pro- 
vided decently  for  his  widow,  without  leaving 
everything  that  he  had  to  dispose  of,  or  any  part 
of  it,  at  her  mercy." 

"  My  aunt  may  have  erred,"  said  Emma, 
warmly ;  ' '  she  has  erred,  but  my  uncle's  con- 
duct was  faultless:  I  was  her  own  niece,  and  he 
left  to  her  the  power  of  providing  for  me." 

"But  unluckily  she  has  left  the  pleasure  of 
providing  for  you  to  your  father,  and  without  the 


154  THE  WATSONS. 

power.  That  's  the  long  and  short  of  the  business. 
After  keeping  you  at  a  distance  from  your  family 
for  such  a  length  of  time  as  must  do  away  all 
natural  affection  among  us,  and  breeding  you  up 
(I  suppose)  in  a  superior  style,  you  are  returned 
upon  their  hands  without  a  sixpence." 

"You  know/'  replied  Emma,  struggling  with 
her  tears,  "my  uncle's  melancholy  state  of  health. 
He  was  a  greater  invalid  than  my  father.  He 
could  not  leave  home." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  make  you  cry,"  said  Robert, 
rather  softened,  —  and  after  a  short  silence,  by  way 
of  changing  the  subject,  he  added:  "I  am  just 
come  from  my  father's  room  5  he  seems  very  in- 
different. It  will  be  a  sad  break  up  when  he 
dies.  Pity  you  can  none  of  you  get  married! 
You  must  come  to  Croydon  as  well  as  the  rest, 
and  see  what  you  can  do  there.  I  believe  if 
Margaret  had  had  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred 
pounds,  there  was  a  young  man  who  would  have 
thought  of  her. " 

Emma  was  glad  when  they  were  joined  by  the 
others;  it  was  better  to  look  at  her  sister-in-law's 
finery  than  listen  to  Robert,  who  had  equally 
irritated  and  grieved  her.  Mrs.  Robert,  exactly  as 
smart  as  she  had  been  at  her  own  party,  came  in 
with  apologies  for  her  dress. 

"  I  would  not  make  you  wait,"  said  she;  "  so  I 
put  on  the  first  thing  I  met  with.  I  am  afraid  I 
am  a  sad  figure.  My  dear  Mr.  W.  (addressing  her 
husband),  you  have  not  put  any  fresh  powder  in 
your  hair." 

"  No,    I   do  not  intend    it.     I   think   there    is 


THE  WATSONS.  155 

powder  enough    in   my   hair    for    my    wife    and 
sisters." 

i '  Indeed,  you  ought  to  make  some  alteration  in 
your  dress  before  dinner  when  you  are  out  visiting, 
though  you  do  not  at  home." 

"  Nonsense." 

"It  is  very  odd  you  do  not  like  to  do  what  other 
gentlemen  do.  Mr.  Marshall  and  Mr.  Hemming 
change  their  dress  every  day  of  their  lives  before 
dinner.  And  what  was  the  use  of  my  putting  up 
your  last  new  coat,  if  you  are  never  to  wear  it  ?  " 

"Do  be  satisfied  with  being  fine  yourself,  and 
leave  your  husband  alone." 

To  put  an  end  to  this  altercation  and  soften  the 
evident  vexation  of  her  sister-in-law,  Emma  (though 
in  no  spirits  to  make  such  nonsense  easy),  be 
gan  to  admire  her  gown.  It  produced  immediate 
complacency. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?"  said  she.  "lam  very 
happy.  It  has  been  excessively  admired;  but 
sometimes  I  think  the  pattern  too  large.  I  shall 
wear  one  to-morrow  which  I  think  you  will  prefer 
to  this.  Have  you  seen  the  one  I  gave  Margaret?  " 

Dinner  came,  and  except  when  Mrs.  Kobert 
looked  at  her  husband's  head,  she  continued  gay 
and  flippant,  chiding  Elizabeth  for  the  profusion 
on  the  table,  and  absolutely  protesting  against  the 
entrance  of  the  roast  turkey,  which  formed  the  only 
exception  to  "You  see  your  dinner."  "  I  do  beg 
and  entreat  that  no  turkey  may  be  seen  to-day.  I 
am  really  frightened  out  of  my  wits  with  the 
number  of  dishes  we  have  already.  Let  us  have 
no  turkey,  I  beseech  you." 


156  THE  WATSONS. 

"  My  dear,"  replied  Elizabeth,  "the  turkey  is 
roasted,  and  it  may  just  as  well  come  in  as  stay  in 
the  kitchen.  Besides,  if  it  is  cut,  I  am  in  hopes 
my  father  may  be  tempted  to  eat  a  bit,  for  it  is 
rather  a  favorite  dish." 

"  You  may  have  it  in,  my  dear;  but  I  assure  you 
I  sha'n't  touch  it." 

Mr.  Watson  had  not  been  well  enough  to  join 
the  party  at  dinner,  but  was  prevailed  on  to  come 
down  and  drink  tea  with  them. 

"  I  wish  he  may  be  able  to  have  a  game  of  cards, 
to-night,"  said  Elizabeth  to  Mrs.  Eobert,  after 
seeing  her  father  comfortably  seated  in  his  arm- 
chair. 

"  Not  on  my  account,  my  dear,  I  beg.  You 
know  I  am  no  card-player.  I  think  a  snug  chat 
infinitely  better.  I  always  say  cards  are  very  well 
sometimes  to  break  a  formal  circle,  but  one  never 
wants  them  among  friends." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  it  Js  being  something  to 
amuse  my  father,"  said  Elizabeth,  "if  it  was  not 
disagreeable  to  you.  He  says  his  head  won't  bear 
whist,  but  perhaps  if  we  make  a  round  game  he 
may  be  tempted  to  sit  down  with  us." 

"By  all  means,  my  dear  creature,  I  am  quite  at 
your  service;  only  do  not  oblige  me  to  choose  the 
game,  that  7s  all.  Speculation  is  the  only  round 
game  at  Croydon  now,  but  I  can  play  anything. 
When  there  is  only  one  or  two  of  you  at  home,  you 
must  be  quite  at  a  loss  to  amuse  him.  Why  do  you 
not  get  him  to  play  atcribbage?  Margaret  and  I 
have  played  at  cribbage  most  nights  that  we  have 
not  been  engaged." 


THE  WATSONS.  157 

A  sound  like  a  distant  carriage  was  at  this 
moment  caught:  everybody  listened;  it  became 
more  decided;  it  certainly  drew  nearer.  It  was 
an  unusual  sound  for  Stanton  at  any  time  of  the 
day,  for  the  village  was  on  no  very  public  road, 
and  contained  no  gentleman's  family  but  the 
rector's.  The  wheels  rapidly  approached;  in  two 
minutes  the  general  expectation  was  answered; 
they  stopped  beyond  a  doubt  at  the  garden-gate  of 
the  parsonage.  Who  could  it  be?  It  was  cer- 
tainly a  postchaise.  Penelope  was  the  only  creat- 
ure to  be  thought  of;  she  might  perhaps  have  met 
with  some  unexpected  opportunity  of  returning. 
A  pause  of  suspense  ensued.  Steps  were  dis- 
tinguished along  the  paved  footway,  which  led 
under  the  window  of  the  house  to  the  front  door, 
and  then  within  the  passage.  They  were  the 
steps  of  a  man.  It  could  not  be  Penelope.  It 
must  be  Samuel.  The  door  opened,  and  displayed 
Tom  Musgrave  in  the  wrap  of  a  traveller.  He 
had  been  in  London,  and  was  now  on  his  way 
home,  and  he  had  come  half-a-mile  out  of  his 
road  merely  to  call  for  ten  minutes  at  Stanton. 
He  loved  to  take  people  by  surprise  with  sudden 
visits  at  extraordinary  'seasons,  and,  in  the  pres- 
ent instance,  he  had  the  additional  motive  of  being 
able  to  tell  the  Miss  Watsons,  whom  he  depended 
on  finding  sitting  quietly  employed  after  tea, 
that  he  was  going  home  to  an  eight-o'clock 
dinner. 

As  it  happened,  he  did  not  give  more  surprise 
than  he  received,  when,  instead  of  being  shown 
into  the  usual  little  sitting-room,  the  door  of  the 


158  THE  WATSONS. 

best  parlor  (a  foot  larger  each  way  than  the  other) 
was  thrown  open,  and  he  beheld  a  circle  of  smart 
people  whom  he  could  not  immediately  recognize, 
arranged  with  all  the  honors  of  visiting  round 
the  fire,  and  Miss  Watson  seated  at  the  best 
Pembroke  table,  with  the  best  tea-things  before 
her.  He  stood  a  few  seconds  in  silent  amazement. 
"Musgrave,"  ejaculated  Margaret,  in  a  tender 
voice.  He  recollected  himself,  and  came  forward, 
delighted  to  find  such  a  circle  of  friends,  and 
blessing  his  good  fortune  for  the  unlooked-for 
indulgence.  He  shook  hands  with  Robert,  bowed 
and  smiled  to  the  ladies,  and  did  everything  very 
prettily;  but  as  to  any  particularity  of  address  or 
emotion  towards  Margaret,  Emma,  who  closely 
observed  him,  perceived  nothing  that  did  not 
justify  Elizabeth's  opinion,  though  Margaret's 
modest  smiles  imported  that  she  meant  to  take 
the  visit  to  herself.  He  was  persuaded  without 
much  difficulty  to  throw  off  his  great-coat  and 
drink  tea  with  them.  For  "  whether  he  dined  at 
eight  or  nine,"  as  he  observed,  "was  a  matter  of 
very  little  consequence;  "  and  without  seeming 
to  seek,  he  did  not  turn  away  from  the  chair  close 
by  Margaret,  which  she  was  assiduous  in  provid- 
ing him.  She  had  thus  secured  him  from  her 
sisters,  but  it  was  not  immediately  in  her  power 
to  preserve  him  from  her  brother's  claims;  for  as 
he  came  avowedly  from  London,  and  had  left  it 
only  four  hours  ago,  the  last  current  report  as  to 
public  news,  and  the  general  opinion  of  the  day, 
must  be  understood  before  Robert  could  let  his 
attention  be  yielded  to  the  less  rational  and  im- 


THE  WATSONS.  159 

portant  demands  of  the  women.  At  last,  however, 
he  was  at  liberty  to  hear  Margaret's  soft  address, 
as  she  spoke  her  fears  of  his  having  had  a  most 
terrible  cold,  dark,  dreadful  journey. 

"Indeed,  you  should  not  have  set  out  so 
late." 

"I  could  not  be  earlier,"  he  replied.  "I  was 
detained  chatting  at  the  Bedford  by  a  friend.  All 
hours  are  alike  to  me.  How  long  have  you  been 
in  the  country,  Miss  Margaret? " 

"  We  only  came  this  morning;  my  kind  brother 
and  sister  brought  me  home  this  very  morning. 
'T  is  singular,  —  is  it  not?  " 

"You  were  gone  a  great  while,  were  not  you? 
A  fortnight,  I  suppose  ?" 

"You  may  call  a  fortnight  a  great  while,  Mr. 
Musgrave, "  said  Mrs.  Robert,  sharply;  "but  we 
think  a  month  very  little.  I  assure  you  we 
bring  her  home  at  the  end  of  a  month  much 
against  our  will." 

' '  A  month !  Have  you  really  been  gone  a 
month?  'T  is  amazing  how  time  flies." 

"You  may  imagine,"  said  Margaret,  in  a  sort 
of  whisper,  "what  are  my  sensations  in  finding 
myself  once  more  at  Stanton;  you  know  what  a 
sad  visitor  I  make.  And  I  was  so  excessively 
impatient  to  see  Emma;  I  dreaded  the  meeting, 
and  at  the  same  time  longed  for  it.  Do  you  not 
comprehend  the  sort  of  feeling?" 

"Not  at  all,"  cried  he,  aloud:  "  I  could  never 
dread  a  meeting  with  Miss  Emma  Watson,  or  any 
of  her  sisters." 

It  was  lucky  that  he  added  that  finish. 


160  THE  WATSONS. 

"  Were  you  speaking  to  me?  "  said  Emma,  who 
had  caught  her  own  name. 

"Not  absolutely,"  he  answered;  "but  I  was 
thinking  of  you,  as  many  at  a  greater  distance 
are  probably  doing  at  this  moment.  Fine  open 
weather,  Miss  Emma,  —  charming  season  for 
hunting." 

"Emma  is  delightful,  is  not  she?"  whispered 
Margaret ;  "I  have  found  her  more  than  answer 
my  warmest  hopes.  Did  you  ever  see  anything 
more  perfectly  beautiful?  I  think  even  you  must 
be  a  convert  to  a  brown  complexion.'7 

He  hesitated.  Margaret  was  fair  herself,  and 
he  did  not  particularly  want  to  compliment 
her;,  but  Miss  Osborne  and  Miss  Carr  were 
likewise  fair,  and  his  devotion  to  them  carried 
the  day. 

"Your  sister's  complexion,"  said  he,  at  last, 
"is  as  fine  as  a  dark  complexion  can  be;  but  I 
still  profess  my  preference  of  a  white  skin.  You 
have  seen  Miss  Osborne?  She  is  my  model  for  a 
truly  feminine  complexion,  and  she  is  very  fair." 

"Is  she  fairer  than  me?" 

Tom  made  no  reply.  "Upon  my  honor, 
ladies,"  said  he,  giving  a  glance  over  his  own 
person,  "I  am  highly  indebted  to  your  conde- 
scension for  admitting  me  in  such  dishabille  into 
your  drawing-room.  I  really  did  not  consider  how 
unfit  I  was  to  be  here,  or  I  hope  I  should  have 
kept  my  distance.  Lady  Osborne  would  tell  me 
that  I  was  growing  as  careless  as  her  son  if  she 
saw  me  in  this  condition." 

The  ladies  were  not  wanting  in  civil  returns,  and 


THE  WATSONS.  161 

Robert  Watson,  stealing  a  view  of  his  own  head  in 
an  opposite  glass,  said  with  equal  civility,  — 

"  You  cannot  be  more  in  dishabille  than  myself. 
We  got  here  so  late  that  I  had  not  time  even  to  put 
a  little  fresh  powder  into  my  hair.77 

Emma  could  not  help  entering  into  what  she  sup- 
posed her  sister-in-law's  feelings  at  the  moment. 

When  the  tea-things  were  removed,  Tom  began 
to  talk  of  his  carriage ;  but  the  old  card-table  being 
set  out,  and  the  fish  and  counters,  with  a  tolerably 
clean  pack  brought  forward  from  the  buffet  by 
Miss  Watson,  the  general  voice  was  so  urgent  with 
him  to  join  their  party  that  he  agreed  to  allow  him- 
self another  quarter  of  an  hour.  Even  Emma  was 
pleased  that  he  would  stay,  for  she  was  beginning 
to  feel  that  a  family  party  might  be  the  worst  of 
all  parties;  and  the  others  were  delighted. 

"What's  your  game?  "  cried  he,  as  they  stood 
round  the  table. 

' '  Speculation,  I  believe, "  said  Elizabeth.  < '  My 
sister  recommends  it,  and  I  fancy  we  all  like  it.  I 
know  you  do,  Tom." 

"  It  is  the  only  round  game  played  at  Croydon 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Robert;  "  we  never  think  of  any 
other.  I  am  glad  it  is  a  favorite  with  you." 

"  Oh,  me!  "  said  Tom.  "  Whatever  you  decide 
on  will  be  a  favorite  with  me.  I  have  had  some 
pleasant  hours  at  speculation  in  my  time;  but  I 
have  not  been  in  the  way  of  it  for  a  long  while. 
Vingt-un  is  the  game  at  Osborne  Castle.  I  have 
played  nothing  but  vingt-un  of  late.  You  would 
be  astonished  to  hear  the  noise  we  make  there  — 
the  fine  old  lofty  drawing-room  rings  again.  Lady 
11 


162  THE  WATSONS. 

Osborne  sometimes  declares  she  cannot  hear  herself 
speak.  Lord  Osborne  enjoys  it  famously,  and  he 
makes  the  best  dealer  without  exception  that  I  ever 
beheld,  —  such  quickness  and  spirit,  he  lets  nobody 
dream  over  their  cards.  I  wish  you  could  see  him 
overdraw  himself  on  both  his  own  cards.  It  is 
worth  anything  in  the  world!  " 

"Dear  me!  "  cried  Margaret,  "why  should  not 
we  play  vingt-un?  I  think  it  is  a  much  better 
game  than  speculation.  I  cannot  say  I  am  very 
fond  of  speculation." 

Mrs.  Robert  offered  not  another  word  in  support 
of  the  game.  She  was  quite  vanquished,  and  the 
fashions  of  Osborne  Castle  carried  it  over  the 
fashions  of  Croydon. 

"Do  you  see  much  of  the  parsonage  family  at 
the  castle,  Mr.  Musgrave? "  said  Emma,  as  they 
were  taking  their  seats. 

"Oh  yes;  they  are  almost  always  there.  Mrs. 
Blake  is  a  nice  little  good-humored  woman;  she 
and  I  are  sworn  friends;  and  Howard  ;s  a  very  gen- 
tlemanlike, good  sort  of  fellow.  You  are  not  for- 
gotten, I  assure  you,  by  any  of  the  party.  I  fancy 
you  must  have  a  little  cheek-glowing  now  and 
then,  Miss  Emma.  Were  not  you  rather  warm  last 
Saturday  about  nine  or  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening? 
I  will  tell  you  how  it  was,  —  I  see  you  are  dying 
to  know.  Says  Howard  to  Lord  Osborne  — • " 

At  this  interesting  moment  he  was  called  on  by 
the  others  to  regulate  the  game,  and  determine 
some  disputable  point  j  and  his  attention  was  so  to- 
tally engaged  in  the  business,  and  afterward  by 
the  course  of  the  game,  as  never  to  revert  to  what 


THE  WATSONS.  163 

he  had  been  saying  before;  and  Emma,  though 
suffering  a  good  deal  from  curiosity,  dared  not  re- 
mind him. 

He  proved  a  very  useful  addition  at  their  table. 
Without  him  it  would  have  been  a  party  of  such  very 
near  relations  as  could  have  felt  little  interest,  and 
perhaps  maintained  little  complaisance;  but  his 
presence  gave  variety  and  secured  good  manners. 
He  was,  in  fact,  excellently  qualified  to  shine  at  a 
round  game,  and  few  situations  made  him  appear 
to  greater  advantage.  He  played  with  spirit,  and 
had  a  great  deal  to  say;  and,  though  no  wit  him- 
self, could  sometimes  make  use  of  the  wit  of  an 
absent  friend,  and  had  a  lively  way  of  retailing  a 
common-place  or  saying  a  mere  nothing,  that  had 
great  effect  at  a  card-table.  The  ways  and  good 
jokes  of  Osborne  Castle  were  now  added  to  his  or- 
dinary means  of  entertainment.  He  repeated  the 
smart  sayings  of  one  lady,  detailed  the  oversights 
of  another,  and  indulged  them  even  with  a  copy  of 
Lord  Osborne's  overdrawing  himself  on  both  cards. 

The  clock  struck  nine  while  he  was  thus  agree- 
ably occupied;  and  when  Nanny  came  in  with  her 
master's  basin  of  gruel,  he  had  the  pleasure  of  ob- 
serving to  Mr.  Watson  that  he  should  leave  him 
at  supper  while  he  went  home  to  dinner  himself. 
The  carriage  was  ordered  to  the  door,  and  no  en- 
treaties for  his  staying  longer  could  now  avail ;  for 
he  well  knew  that  if  he  stayed  he  would  have 
to  sit  down  to  supper  in  less  than  ten  minutes, 
which  to  a  man  whose  heart  had  been  long  fixed  on 
calling  his  next  meal  a  dinner,  was  quite  insup- 
portable. On  finding  him  determined  to  go,  Mar- 


164  THE  WATSONS. 

garet  began  to  wink  and  nod  at  Elizabeth  to  ask 
him  to  dinner  for  the  following  day,  and  Elizabeth 
at  last,  not  able  to  resist  hints  which  her  own  hos- 
pitable social  temper  more  than  half  seconded, 
gave  the  invitation:  "Would  he  give  Eobert  the 
meeting,  they  should  be  very  happy?  " 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure, "  was  his  first  re- 
ply. In  a  moment  afterwards,  "  That  is,  if  I  can 
possibly  get  here  in  time;  but  I  shoot  with  Lord 
Osborne,  and  therefore  must  not  engage.  You 
will  not  think  of  me  unless  you  see  me. "  And  so 
he  departed,  delighted  in  the  uncertainty  in  which 
he  had  left  it. 

Margaret,  in  the  joy  of  her  heart,  under  circum- 
stances which  she  chose  to  consider  as  peculiarly 
propitious,  would  willingly  have  made  a  confidante 
of  Emma  when  they  were  alone  for  a  short  time  the 
next  morning,  and  had  proceeded  so  far  as  to  say, 
"The  J7oung  man  who  was  here  last  night,  my  dear 
Emma,  and  returns  to-day,  is  more  interesting  to 
me  than  perhaps  you  may  be  aware;  "  but  Emma, 
pretending  to  understand  nothing  extraordinary  in 
the  words,  made  some  very  inapplicable  reply,  and 
jumping  up,  ran  away  from  a  subject  which  was 
odious  to  her.  As  Margaret  would  not  allow  a 
doubt  to  be  repeated  of  Musgrave's  coming  to  din- 
ner, preparations  were  made  for  his  entertainment 
much  exceeding  what  had  been  deemed  necessary 
the  day  before;  and  taking  the  office  of  superin- 
tendence entirely  from  her  sister,  she  was  half  the 
morning  in  the  kitchen  herself,  directing  and 
scolding. 


THE  WATSONS.  165 

After  a  great  deal  of  indifferent  cooking  and 
anxious  suspense,  however,  they  were  obliged  to 
sit  down  without  their  guest.  Tom  Musgrave 
never  came ;  and  Margaret  was  at  no  pains  to  con- 
ceal her  vexation  under  the  disappointment,  or  re- 
press the  peevishness  of  her  temper.  The  peace  of 
the  party  for  the  remainder  of  that  day  and  the 
whole  of  the  next,  which  comprised  the  length  of 
Robert  and  Jane's  visit,  was  continually  invaded 
by  her  fretful  displeasure  and  querulous  attacks. 
Elizabeth  was  the  usual  object  of  both.  Margaret 
had  just  respect  enough  for  her  brother's  and 
sister's  opinion  to  behave  properly  by  them,  but 
Elizabeth  and  the  maids  could  never  do  right ;  and 
Emma,  whom  she  seemed  no  longer  to  think  about, 
found  the  continuance  of  the  gentle  voice  beyond 
calculation  short.  Eager  to  be  as  little  among 
them  as  possible,  Emma  was  delighted  with  the 
alternative  of  sitting  above  with  her  father,  and 
warmly  entreated  to  be  his  constant  companion 
each  evening;  and  as  Elizabeth  loved  company  of 
any  kind  too  well  not  to  prefer  being  below  at  all 
risks ;  as  she  had  rather  talk  of  Croydon  with  Jane, 
with  every  interruption  of  Margaret's  perverseness, 
than  sit  with  only  her  father,  who  frequently  could 
not  endure  talking  at  all,  —  the  affair  was  so  set- 
tled, as  soon  as  she  could  be  persuaded  to  believe  it 
no  sacrifice  on  her  sister's  part.  To  Emma  the 
change  was  most  acceptable  and  delightful.  Her 
father,  if  ill,  required  little  more  than  gentleness 
and  silence,  and  being  a  man  of  sense  and  educa- 
tion, was,  if  able  to  converse,  a  welcome  com- 
panion. In  his  chamber  Emma  was  at  peace  from 


166  THE  WATSONS. 

the  dreadful  mortifications  of  unequal  society  and 
family  discord;  from  the  immediate  endurance  of 
hard-hearted  prosperity,  low-minded  conceit,  and 
wrong-headed  folly,  engrafted  on  an  untoward  dis- 
position. She  still  suffered  from  them  in  the  con- 
templation of  their  existence,  in  memory  and  in 
prospect,  but  for  the  moment  she  ceased  to  be  tor- 
tured by  their  effects.  She  was  at  leisure;  she 
could  read  and  think,  though  her  situation  was 
hardly  such  as  to  make  reflection  very  soothing. 
The  evils  arising  from  the  loss  of  her  uncle  were 
neither  trifling  nor  likely  to  lessen;  and  when 
thought  had  been  freely  indulged  in  contrasting 
the  past  and  the  present,  the  employment  of  mind 
and  •  dissipation  of  unpleasant  ideas,  which  only 
reading  could  produce,  made  her  thankfully  turn 
to  a  book. 

The  change  in  her  home  society  and  style  of  life, 
in  consequence  of  the  death  of  one  friend  and  the 
imprudence  of  another,  had  indeed  been  striking. 
From  being  the  first  object  of  hope  and  solicitude 
to  an  uncle  who  had  formed  her  mind  with  the  care 
of  a  parent,  and  of  tenderness  to  an  aunt  whose  ami- 
able temper  had  delighted  to  give  her  every  indul- 
gence; from  being  the  life  and  spirit  of  a  house 
where  all  had  been  comfort  and  elegance,  and  the 
expected  heiress  of  an  easy  independence,  she  was 
become  of  importance  to  no  one,  —  a  burden  on  those 
whose  affections  she  could  not  expect,  an  addition 
in  a  house  already  overstocked,  surrounded  by  infe- 
rior minds,  with  little  chance  of  domestic  comfort, 
and  as  little  hope  of  future  support.  It  was  well  for 
her  that  she  was  naturally  cheerful,  for  the  change 


THE   WATSONS.  167 

had  been  such  as  might  have  plunged  weak  spirits 
in  despondence. 

She  was  very  much  pressed  by  Robert  and  Jane 
to  return  with  them  to  Croydon,  and  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  a  refusal  accepted,  as  they  thought 
too  highly  of  their  own  kindness  and  situation  to 
suppose  the  offer  could  appear  in  less  advantageous 
light  to  anybody  else.  Elizabeth  gave  them  her 
interest,  though  evidently  against  her  own,  in  pri- 
vately urging  Emma  to  go. 

"You  do  not  know  what  'you  refuse,  Emma/' 
said  she,  "nor  what  you  have  to  bear  at  home.  I 
would  advise  you  by  all  means  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion ;  there  is  always  something  lively  going  on  at 
Croydon.  You  will  be  in  company  almost  every 
day,  and  Robert  and  Jane  will  be  very  kind  to  you. 
As  for  me,  I  shall  be  no  worse  off  without  you  than 
I  have  been  used  to  be  ;  but  poor  Margaret's  disa- 
greeable ways  are  new  to  you,  and  they  would  vex 
you  more  than  you  think  for,  if  you  stay  at  home.'* 

Emma  was  of  course  uninfluenced,  except  to 
greater  esteem  for  Elizabeth,  by  such  representa- 
tions, and  the  visitors  departed  without  her. 


"When  the  author's  sister,  Cassandra,  showed  the 
manuscript  of  this  work  to  some  of  her  nieces,  she 
also  told  them  something  of  the  intended  story ;  for 
with  this  dear  sister  —  though,  I  believe,  with  no 
one  else  —  Jane  seems  to  have  talked  freely  of  any 
work  that  she  might  have  in  hand.  Mr.  Watson 
was  soon  to  die;  and  Emma  to  become  dependent 


168  THE  WATSONS. 

for  a  home  on  her  narrow-minded  sister-in-law  and 
brother.  She  was  to  decline  an  offer  of  marriage 
from  Lord  Osborne,  and  much  of  the  interest  of  the 
tale  was  to  arise  from  Lady  Osborne's  love  for  Mr. 
Howard,  and  his  counter  affection  for  Emma,  whom 
he  was  finally  to  marry. 


A    MEMOIR. 


"  He  knew  of  no  one  but  himself  who  was  inclined  to  the 
work.  This  is  no  uncommon  motive.  A  man  sees  something 
to  be  done,  knows  of  no  one  who  will  do  it  but  himself,  and 
so  is  driven  to  the  enterprise." 

HELPS'S  Life  of  Columbus,  ch.  i. 


PREFACE. 


THE  MEMOIR  of  my  aunt,  JANE  AUSTEN,  has 
been  received  with  more  favor  than  I  had  ventured 
to  expect.  The  notices  taken  of  it  in  the  periodi- 
cal press,  as  well  as  letters  addressed  to  me  by 
many  with  whom  I  am  not  personally  acquainted, 
show  that  an  unabated  interest  is  still  taken  in 
every  particular  that  can  be  told  about  her.  I  am 
thus  encouraged  not  only  to  offer  a  Second  Edition 
of  the  Memoir,  but  also  to  enlarge  it  with  some 
additional  matter  which  I  might  have  scrupled  to 
intrude  on  the  public  if  they  had  not  thus  seemed 
to  call  for  it.  In  the  present  Edition,  the  narra- 
tive is  somewhat  enlarged,  and  a  few  more  letters 
are  added;  with  a  short  specimen  of  her  childish 
stories.  The  cancelled  chapter  of  "  Persuasion  " 
is  given,  in  compliance  with  wishes  both  publicly 
and  privately  expressed.  A  fragment  of  a  story 
entitled  "The  Watsons  "  is  printed;  and  extracts 
are  given  from  a  novel  which  she  had  begun  a  few 
months  before  her  death ;  but  the  chief  addition  is 
a  short  tale,  never  before  published,  called  "Lady 
Susan."  I  regret  that  the  little  which  I  have 


172  PREFACE. 

been  able  to  add  could  not  appear  in  my  First 
Edition ;  as  much  of  it  was  either  unknown  to  me, 
or  not  at  my  command,  when  I  first  published; 
and  I  hope  that  I  may  claim  some  indulgent 
allowance  for  the  difficulty  of  recovering  little 
facts  and  feelings  which  had  been  merged  half  a 
century  deep  in  oblivion. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  —  BIRTH  or  JANE  AUSTEN  —  HEB 
FAMILY  CONNECTIONS — THEIR  INFLUENCE  ON  HER 
WRITINGS. 

)R,E  than  half  a  century  has  passed  away 
since  I,  the  youngest  of  the  mourners,1 
attended  the  funeral  of  my  dear  aunt 
Jane  in  Winchester  Cathedral;  and 
now,  in  my  old  age,  I  am  asked  whether  my 
memory  will  serve*  to  rescue  from  oblivion  any 
events  of  her  life  or  any  traits  of  her  character  to 
satisfy  the  inquiries  of  a  generation  of  readers  who 
have  been  born  since  she  died.  Of  events  her  life 
was  singularly  barren:  few  changes  and  no  great 
crisis  ever  broke  the  smooth  current  of  its  course. 
Even  her  fame  may  be  said  to  have  been  posthu- 
mous :  it  did  not  attain  to  any  vigorous  life  till  she 
had  ceased  to  exist.  Her  talents  did  not  introduce 

1  I  went  to  represent  my  father,  who  was  too  unwell  fro 
attend  himself,  and  thus  I  was  the  only  one  of  my  generation 
present. 


174  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

her  to  the  notice  of  other  writers,  or  connect  her 
with  the  literary  world,  or  in  any  degree  pierce 
through  the  obscurity  of  her  domestic  retirement. 
I  have  therefore  scarcely  any  materials  for  a  de- 
tailed life  of  my  aunt ;  but  I  have  a  distinct  recol- 
lection of  her  person  and  character;  and  perhaps 
many  may  take  an  interest  in  a  delineation,  if  any 
such  can  be  drawn,  of  that  prolific  mind  whence 
sprung  the  Dashwoods  and  Bennets,  the  Bertrams 
and  Woodhouses,  the  Thorpes  and  Musgroves,  who 
have  been  admitted  as  familiar  guests  to  the  fire- 
sides of  so  many  families,  and  are  known  there  as 
individually  and  intimately  as  if  they  were  living 
neighbors.  Many  may  care  to  know  whether  the 
moral  rectitude,  the  correct  taste,  and  the  warm 
affections  with  which  she  invested  her  ideal  char- 
acters, were  really  existing  in  the  native  source 
whence  those  ideas  flowed,  and  were  actually  ex- 
hibited by  her  in  the  various  relations  of  life.  I 
can  indeed  bear  witness  that  there  was  scarcely  a 
charm  in  her  most  delightful  characters  that  was 
not  a  true  reflection  of  her  own  sweet  temper  and 
loving  heart.  I  was  young  when  we  lost  her;  but 
the  impressions  made  on  the  young  are  deep,  and 
though  in  the  course  of  fifty  years  I  have  forgotten 
much,  T  have  not  forgotten  that  "Aunt  Jane" 
was  the  delight  of  all  her  nephews  and  nieces. 
We  did  not  think  of  her  as  being  clever,  still  less 
as  being  famous ;  but  we  valued  her  as  one  always 
kind,  sympathizing,  and  amusing.  To  all  this  I 
am  a  living  witness,  but  whether  I  can  sketch  out 
such  a  faint  outline  of  this  excellence  as  shall  be 
perceptible  to  others  may  be  reasonably  doubted. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  175 

Aided,  however,  by  a  few  survivors1  who  knew  her, 
I  will  not  refuse  to  make  the  attempt.  I  am  the 
more  inclined  to  undertake  the  task  from  a  convic- 
tion that,  however  little  I  may  have  to  tell,  no  one 
else  is  left  who  could  tell  so  much  of  her. 

Jane  Austen  was  born  on  December  16,  1775,  at 
the  Parsonage  House  of  Steventon  in  Hampshire. 
Her  father,  the  Eev.  George  Austen,  was  of  a 
family  long  established  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Tenterden  and  Sevenoaks  in  Kent.  I  believe  that 
early  in  the  seventeenth  century  they  were  cloth- 
iers. Hasted,  in  his  History  of  Kent,  says :  "  The 
clothing  business  was  exercised  by  persons  who 
possessed  most  of  the  landed  property  in  the 
Weald,  insomuch  that  almost  all  the  ancient 
families  of  these  parts,  now  of  large  estates  and 
genteel  rank  in  life,  and  some  of  them  ennobled  by 
titles,  are  sprung  from  ancestors  who  have  used 
this  great  staple  manufacture,  now  almost  unknown 
here."  In  his  list  of  these  families  Hasted  places 
the  Austens,  and  he  adds  that  these  clothiers 
"  were  usually  called  the  Gray  Coats  of  Kent;  and 
were  a  body  so  numerous  and  united  that  at  county 
elections  whoever  had  their  vote  and  interest  was 

1  My  chief  assistants  have  been  my  sisters,  Mrs.  B.  Lefroy 
and  Miss  Austen,  whose  recollections  of  our  aunt  are,  on 
some  points,  more  vivid  than  my  own.  I  have  not  only  been 
indebted  to  their  memory  for  facts,  but  have  sometimes  used 
their  words.  Indeed  some  passages  towards  the  end  of  the 
work  were  entirely  written  by  the  latter. 

I  have  also  to  thank  some  of  my  cousins,  and  especially  the 
daughters  of  Admiral  Charles  Austen,  for  the  use  of  letters 
and  papers  which  had  passed  into  their  hands,  without  which 
this  Memoir,  scanty  as  it  is,  could  not  have  been  written. 


176  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

almost  certain  of  being  elected."  The  family  still 
retains  a  badge  of  this  origin;  for  their  livery  is  of 
that  peculiar  mixture  of  light  blue  and  white, 
called  Kentish  gray,  which  forms  the  facings  of 
the  Kentish  militia. 

Mr.  G-eorge  Austen  had  lost  both  his  parents 
before  he  was  nine  years  old.  He  inherited  no 
property  from  them;  but  was  happy  in  having  a 
kind  uncle,  Mr.  Francis  Austen,  a  successful 
lawyer  at  Tunbridge,  the  ancestor  of  the  Austens 
of  Kippington,  who,  though  he  had  children  of  his 
own,  yet  made  liberal  provision  for  his  orphan 
nephew.  The  boy  received  a  good  education  at 
Tunbridge  School,  whence  he  obtained  a  scholar- 
ship, and  subsequently  a  fellowship,  at  St.  John's 
College,  Oxford.  In  1764  he  came  into  possession 
of  the  two  adjoining  Rectories  of  Deane  and  Ste- 
venton  in  Hampshire;  the  former  purchased  for 
him  by  his  generous  uncle  Francis,  the  latter 
given  by  his  cousin,  Mr.  Knight.  This  was  no 
very  gross  case  of  plurality,  according  to  the  ideas 
of  that  time;  for  the  two  villages  were  little  more 
than  a  mile  apart,  and  their  united  populations 
scarcely  amounted  to  three  hundred.  In  the  same 
year  he  married  Cassandra,  youngest  daughter  of 
the  Rev.  Thomas  Leigh,  of  the  family  of  Leighs 
of  Warwickshire,  who,  having  been  a  fellow  of 
All  Souls,  held  the  College  living  of  Harpsden, 
near  Henley -upon-Thames.  Mr.  Thomas  Leigh 
was  a  younger  brother  of  Dr.  Theophilus  Leigh,  a 
personage  well  known  at  Oxford  in  his  day,  and 
his  day  was  not  a  short  one,  for  he  lived  to  be 
ninety,  and  held  the  Mastership  of  Balliol  College 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  177 

for  above  half  a  century.  He  was  a  man  more 
famous  for  his  sayings  than  his  doings,  overflowing 
with  puns  and  witticisms  and  sharp  retorts;  but 
his  most  serious  joke  was  his  practical  one  of 
living  much  longer  than  had  been  expected  or  in- 
tended. He  was  a  fellow  of  Corpus,  and  the  story 
is  that  the  Balliol  men,  unable  to  agree  in  elect- 
ing one  of  their  own  number  to  the  Mastership, 
chose  him,  partly  under  the  idea  that  he  was  in 
weak  health  and  likely  soon  to  cause  another 
vacancy.  It  was  afterwards  said  that  his  long  in- 
cumbency had  been  a  judgment  on  the  Society  for 
having  elected  an  Out-College-Man  l  I  imagine 
that  the  front  of  Balliol  towards  Broad  Street 
which  has  recently  been  pulled  down  must  have 
been  built,  or  at  least  restored,  while  he  was 
Master,  for  the  Leigh  arms  were  placed  under  the 
cornice  at  the  corner  nearest  to  Trinity  gates. 
The  beautiful  building  lately  erected  has  destroyed 
this  record,  and  thus  "  monuments  themselves 
memorials  need." 

His  fame  for  witty  and  agreeable  conversation 
extended  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  University. 
Mrs.  Thrale,  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Johnson,  writes 
thus:  "Are  you  acquainted  with  Dr.  Leigh,2  the 
Master  of  Balliol  College,  and  are  you  not  de- 
lighted with  his  gayety  of  manners  and  youthful 
vivacity,  now  that  he  is  eighty-six  years  of  age? 

1  There  seems  to  have  been  some  doubt  as  to  the  validity 
of  this  election ;  for  Hearne  says  that  it  was  referred  to  the 
Visitor,  who  confirmed  it.     (Hearne's  "  Diaries,"  v.  2.) 

2  Mrs.  Thrale  writes  Dr.  Lee,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
the  identity  of  person. 

12 


178  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

I  never  heard  a  more  perfect  or  excellent  pun  than 
his,  when  some  one  told  him  how,  in  a  late  dispute 
among  the  Privy  Councillors,  the  Lord  Chancellor 
struck  the  table  with  such  violence  that  he  split  it. 
"No,  no,  no,"  replied  the  Master;  "  I  can  hardly 
persuade  myself  that  he  split  the  table,  though  I 
believe  he  divided  the  Board." 

Some  of  his  sayings  of  course  survive  in  family 
tradition.  He  was  once  calling  on  a  gentleman 
notorious  for  never  opening  a  book,  who  took  him 
into  a  room  overlooking  the  Bath  Road,  which  was 
then  a  great  thoroughfare  for  travellers  of  every 
class,  saying  rather  pompously,  "  This,  Doctor,  I 
call  my  study."  The  Doctor,  glancing  his  eye 
round  the  room,  in  which  no  books  were  to  be 
seen,  replied,  "And  very  well  named  too,  sir,  for 
you  know  Pope  tells  us,  '  The  proper  study  of 
mankind  is  Man.1  "  When  my  father  went  to 
Oxford,  he  was  honored  with  an  invitation  to  dine 
with  this  dignified  cousin.  Being  a  raw  under- 
graduate, unaccustomed  to  the  habits  of  the  Uni- 
versity, he  was  about  to  take  off  his  gown,  as  if  it 
were  a  great-coat,  when  the  old  man,  then  consid- 
erably turned  eighty,  said,  with  a  grim  smile, 
"Young  man,  you  need  not  strip:  we  are  not 
going  to  fight. "  This  humor  remained  in  him  so 
strongly  to  the  last  that  he  might  almost  have 
supplied  Pope  with  another  instance  of  ' '  the  rul- 
ing passion  strong  in  death;  "  for  only  three  days 
before  he  expired,  being  told  that  an  old  acquaint- 
ance was  lately  married,  having  recovered  from  a 
long  illness  by  eating  eggs,  and  that  the  wits  said 
that  he  had  been  egged  on  to  matrimony,  he  im- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  179 

mediately  trumped  the  joke,  saying,  "Then  may 
the  yoke  sit  easy  on  him."  I  do  not  know  from 
what  common  ancestor  the  Master  of  Balliol  and 
his  great-niece,  Jane  Austen,  with  some  others  of 
the  family,  may  have  derived  the  keen  sense  of  hu- 
mor which  they  certainly  possessed. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  Austen  resided  first  at 
Deane,  but  removed  in  1771  to  Steventon,  which 
was  their  residence  for  about  thirty  years.  They 
commenced  their  married  life  with  the  charge  of  a 
little  child,  a  son  of  the  celebrated  Warren  Hast- 
ings, who  had  been  committed  to  the  care  of  Mr. 
Austen  before  his  marriage,  probably  through  the 
influence  of  his  sister,  Mrs.  Hancock,  whose  hus- 
band at  that  time  held  some  office  under  Hastings 
in  India.  Mr.  Gleig,  in  his  "Life  of  Hastings," 
says  that  his  son  George,  the  offspring  of  his  first 
marriage,  was  sent  to  England  in  1761  for  his  edu- 
cation, but  that  he  had  never  been  able  to  ascer- 
tain to  whom  this  precious  charge  was  intrusted, 
nor  what  became  of  him.  I  am  able  to  state,  from 
family  tradition,  that  he  died  young,  of  what  was 
then  called  putrid  sore  throat;  and  that  Mrs. 
Austen  had  become  so  much  attached  to  him  that 
she  always  declared  that  his  death  had  been  as 
great  a  grief  to  her  as  if  he  had  been  a  child  of 
her  own. 

About  this  time,  the  grandfather  of  Mary 
Russell  Mitford,  Dr.  Russell,  was  rector  of  the 
adjoining  parish  of  Ashe;  so  that  the  parents  of 
two  popular  female  writers  must  have  been  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  each  other. 

As  my  subject  carries  me  back  about  a  hundred 


180  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

years,  it  will  afford  occasions  for  observing  many 
changes  gradually  effected  in  the  manners  and 
habits  of  society,  which  I  may  think  it  worth 
while  to  mention.  They  may  be  little  things ;  but 
time  gives  a  certain  importance  even  to  trifles,  as 
it  imparts  a  peculiar  flavor  to  wine.  The  most 
ordinary  articles  of  domestic  life  are  looked  on 
with  some  interest,  if  they  are  brought  to  light 
after  being  long  buried;  and  we  feel  a  natural 
curiosity  to  know  what  was  done  and  said  by  our 
forefathers,  even  though  it  may  be  nothing  wiser 
or  better  than  what  we  are  daily  doing  or  saying 
ourselves.  Some  of  this  generation  may  be  little 
aware  how  many  conveniences,  now  considered  to 
be  necessaries  and  matters  of  course,  were  un- 
known to  their  grandfathers  and  grandmothers. 
The  lane  between  Deane  and  Steventon  has  long 
been  as  smooth  as  the  best  turnpike  road;  but 
when  the  family  removed  from  the  one  residence 
to  the  other  in  1771,  it  was  a  mere  cart  track,  so 
cut  up  by  deep  ruts  as  to  be  impassable  for  a  light 
carriage.  Mrs.  Austen,  who  was  not  then  in 
strong  health,  performed  the  short  journey  on  a 
feather-bed,  placed  upon  some  soft  articles  of  furni- 
ture in  the  wagon  which  held  their  household 
goods.  In  those  days  it  was  not  unusual  to  set 
men  to  work  with  shovel  and  pickaxe  to  fill  up  ruts 
and  holes  in  roads  seldom  used  by  carriages,  on 
such  special  occasions  as  a  funeral  or  a  wedding. 
Ignorance  and  coarseness  of  language  also  were 
still  lingering  even  upon  higher  levels  of  society 
than  might  have  been  expected  to  retain  such 
mists.  About  this  time,  a  neighboring  squire,  a 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  181 

man  of  many  acres,  referred  the  following  difficulty 
to  Mr.  Austen's  decision:  "  You  know  all  about 
these  sort  of  things.  Do  tell  us.  Is  Paris  in 
France,  or  France  in  Paris?  for  my  wife  has  been 
disputing  with  me  about  it."  The  same  gentle- 
man, narrating  some  conversation  which  he  had 
heard  between  the  rector  and  his  wife,  represented 
the  latter  as  beginning  her  reply  to  her  husband 
with  a  round  oath;  and  when  his  daughter  called 
him  to  task,  reminding  him  that  Mrs.  Austen 
never  swore,  he  replied,  "Now,  Betty,  why  do 
you  pull  me  up  for  nothing?  that  ?s  neither  here 
nor  there;  you  know  very  well  that  ?s  only  my  way 
of  telling  the  story."  Attention  has  lately  been 
called  by  a  celebrated  writer  to  the  inferiority  of 
the  clergy  to  the  laity  of  England  two  centuries 
ago.  The  charge  no  doubt  is  true,  if  the  rural 
clergy  are  to  be  compared  with  that  higher  section 
of  country  gentlemen  who  went  into  Parliament, 
and  mixed  in  London  society,  and  took  the  lead  in 
their  several  counties;  but  it  might  be  found  less 
true  if  they  were  to  be  compared,  as  in  all  fairness 
they  ought  to  be,  with  that  lower  section  with 
whom  they  usually  associated.  The  smaller  landed 
proprietors,  who  seldom  went  farther  from  home 
than  their  county  town,  from  the  squire  with  his 
thousand  acres  to  the  yeoman  who  cultivated  his 
hereditary  property  of  one  or  two  hundred,  then 
formed  a  numerous  class,  —  each  the  aristocrat  of 
his  own  parish;  and  there  was  probably  a  greater 
difference  in  manners  and  refinement  between  this 
class  and  that  immediately  above  them  than  could 
now  be  found  between  any  two  persons  who  rank 


182  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

as  gentlemeu.  For  in  the  progress  of  civilization, 
though  all  orders  may  make  some  progress,  yet  it 
is  most  perceptible  in  the  lower.  It  is  a  process 
of  "levelling  up;"  the  rear  rank  " dressing  up," 
as  it  were,  close  to  the  front  rank.  When  Hamlet 
mentions,  as  something  which  he  had  "for  three 
years  taken  note  of, "  that  "the  toe  of  the  peasant 
comes  so  near  the  heel  of  the  courtier,"  it  was 
probably  intended  by  Shakspeare  as  a  satire  on 
his  own  times ;  but  it  expressed  a  principle  which 
is  working  at  all  times  in  which  society  makes  any 
progress.  I  believe  that  a  century  ago  the  im- 
provement in  most  country  parishes  began  with 
the  clergy;  and  that  in  those  days  a  rector  who 
chanced  to  be  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  found 
himself  superior  to  his  chief  parishioners  in  infor- 
mation and  manners,  and  became  a  sort  of  centre 
of  refinement  and  politeness. 

Mr.  Austen  was  a  remarkably  good-looking  man, 
both  in  his  youth  and  his  old  age.  During  his 
year  of  office  at  Oxford  he  had  been  called  "the 
handsome  Proctor;  "  and  at  Bath,  when  more  than 
seventy  years  old,  he  attracted  observation  by  his 
fine  features  and  abundance  of  snow-white  hair. 
Being  a  good  scholar  he  was  able  to  prepare  two  of 
his  sons  for  the  University,  and  to  direct  the 
studies  of  his  other  children,  whether  sons  or 
daughters,  as  well  as  to  increase  his  income  by 
taking  pupils. 

In  Mrs.  Austen  also  was  to  be  found  the  germ 
of  much  of  the  ability  which  was  concentrated  in 
Jane,  but  of  which  others  of  her  children  had  a 
share.  She  united  strong  common  sense  with  a 


A  MEMOIR  OP  JANE  AUSTEN.  183 

lively  imagination,  and  often  expressed  herself, 
both  in  writing  and  in  conversation,  with  epi- 
grammatic force  and  point.  She  lived,  like  many 
of  her  family,  to  an  advanced  age.  During  the 
last  years  of  her  life  she  endured  continual  pain, 
not  only  patiently,  but  with  characteristic  cheer- 
fulness. She  once  said  to  me,  "  Ah,  my  dear, 
you  find  me  just  where  you  left  me,  —  on  the  sofa. 
I  sometimes  think  that  God  Almighty  must  have 
forgotten  me;  but  I  dare  say  he  will  come  for  me 
in  his  own  good  time."  She  died  and  was  buried 
at  Chawton,  January,  1827,  aged  eighty-eight. 

Her  own  family  were  so  much,  and  the  rest  of 
the  world  so  little,  to  Jane  Austen,  that  some  brief 
mention  of  her  brothers  and  sister  is  necessary,  in 
order  to  give  any  idea  of  the  objects  which  princi- 
pally occupied  her  thoughts  and  filled  her  heart, 
especially  as  some  of  them,  from  their  characters  or 
professions  in  life,  may  be  supposed  to  have  had 
more  or  less  influence  on  her  writings  ;  though  I 
feel  some  reluctance  in  bringing  before  public  no- 
tice persons  and  circumstances  essentially  private. 

Her  eldest  brother  James,  my  own  father,  had, 
when  a  very  young  man,  at  St.  John's  College, 
Oxford,  been  the  originator  and  chief  supporter 
of  a  periodical  paper  called  "The  Loiterer,"  writ- 
ten somewhat  on  the  plan  of  the  "Spectator"  and 
its  successors,  but  nearly  confined  to  subjects  con- 
nected with  the  University.  In  after  life  he  used 
to  speak  very  slightingly  of  this  early  work,  which 
he  had  the  better  right  to  do,  as,  whatever  may 
have  been  the  degree  of  their  merits,  the  best 


184  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

papers  had  certainly  been  written  by  himself.  He 
was  well  read  in  English  literature,  had  a  correct 
taste,  and  wrote  readily  and  happily,  both  in  prose 
and  verse.  He  was  more  than  ten  years  older  than 
Jane,  and  had,  I  believe,  a  large  share  in  directing 
her  reading  and  forming  her  taste. 

Her  second  brother,  Edward,  had  been  a  good 
deal  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  family,  as  he 
was  early  adopted  by  his  cousin,  Mr.  Knight,  of 
Godmershain  Park  in  Kent,  and  Chawton  House  in 
Hampshire;  and  finally  came  into  possession  both 
of  the  property  and  the  name.  But  though  a  good 
deal  separated  in  childhood,  they  were  much  to- 
gether in  after-life,  and  Jane  gave  a  large  share  of 
her'affections  to  him  and  his  children.  Mr.  Knight 
was  not  only  a  very  amiable  man,  kind  and  indul- 
gent to  all  connected  with  him,  but  possessed  also 
a  spirit  of  fun  and  liveliness  which  made  him 
especially  delightful  to  all  young  people. 

Her  third  brother,  Henry,  had  great  conversa- 
tional powers,  and  inherited  from  his  father  an 
eager  and  sanguine  disposition.  He  was  a  very 
entertaining  companion,  but  had  perhaps  less  steadi- 
ness of  purpose,  certainly  less  success  in  life,  than 
his  brothers.  He  became  a  clergyman  when  mid- 
dle-aged; and  an  allusion  to  his  sermons  will  be 
found  in  one  of  Jane's  letters.  At  one  time  he 
resided  in  London,  and  was  useful  in  transacting 
his  sister's  business  with  her  publishers. 

Her  two  youngest  brothers,  Francis  and  Charles, 
were  sailors  during  that  glorious  period  of  the 
British  navy  which  comprises  the  close  of  the  last 
and  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  when  it 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  185 

was  impossible  for  an  officer  to  be  almost  always 
afloat,  as  these  brothers  were,  without  seeing  ser- 
vice which,  in  these  days,  would  be  considered 
distinguished.  Accordingly,  they  were  continually 
engaged  in  actions  of  more  or  less  importance,  and 
sometimes  gained  promotion  by  their  success.  Both 
rose  to  the  rank  of  Admiral,  and  carried  out  their 
flags  to  distant  stations. 

Francis  lived  to  attain  the  very  summit  of  his 
profession,  — having  died,  in  his  ninety-third  year, 
G.C.B.  and  Senior  Admiral  of  the  Fleet,  in  1865. 
He  possessed  great  firmness  of  character,  with  a 
strong  sense  of  duty,  whether  due  from  himself 
to  others,  or  from  others  to  himself.  He  was  con- 
sequently a  strict  disciplinarian;  but,  as  he  was 
a  very  religious  man,  it  was  remarked  of  him  (for 
in  those  days,  at  least,  it  was  remarkable)  that  he 
maintained  this  discipline  without  ever  uttering  an 
oath  or  permitting  one  in  his  presence.  On  one 
occasion,  when  ashore  in  a  sea-side  town,  he  was 
spoken  of  as  "the  officer  who  kneeled  at  church," 
—  a  custom  which  now  happily  would  not  be  thought 
peculiar. 

Charles  was  generally  serving  in  frigates  or 
sloops,  —  blockading  harbors,  driving  the  ships  of 
the  enemy  ashore,  boarding  gun-boats,  and  fre- 
quently making  small  prizes.  At  one  time  he  was 
absent  from  England  on  such  services  for  seven 
years  together.  In  later  life  he  commanded  the 
' '  Bellerophon "  at  the  bombardment  of  St.  Jean 
d' Acre  in  1840.  In  1850  he  went  out  in  the  "  Hast- 
ings, "  in  command  of  the  East  India  and  China  sta- 
tion; but  on  the  breaking  out  of  the  Burmese  war 


186  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

he  transferred  his  flag  to  a  steam  sloop,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  getting  up  the  shallow  waters  of  the  Irra- 
waddy,  on  board  of  which  he  died  of  cholera,  in 
1852,  in  the  seventy-fourth  year  of  his  age.  His 
sweet  temper  and  affectionate  disposition,  in  which 
he  resembled  his  sister  Jane,  had  secured  to  him 
an  unusual  portion  of  attachment,  not  only  from 
his  own  family,  but  from  all  the  officers  and  com- 
mon sailors  who  served  under  him.  One  who  was 
with  him  at  his  death  has  left  this  record  of  him  : 
"Our  good  Admiral  won  the  hearts  of  all  by  his 
gentleness  and  kindness  while  he  was  struggling 
with  disease  and  endeavoring  to  do  his  duty  as 
Commander-in-chief  of  the  British  naval  forces  in 
these  waters.  His  death  was  a  great  grief  to  the 
whole  fleet.  I  know  that  I  cried  bitterly  when  I 
found  he  was  dead. "  The  Order  in  Council  of  the 
Governor-General  of  India,  Lord  Dalhousie,  ex- 
presses "admiration  of  the  stanch  high  spirit 
which,  notwithstanding  his  age  and  previous  suf- 
ferings, had  led  the  Admiral  to  take  his  part  in 
the  trying  service  which  closed  his  career. " 

These  two  brothers  have  been  dwelt  on  longer 
than  the  others,  because  their  honorable  career 
accounts  for  Jane  Austen's  partiality  for  the  Navy, 
as  well  as  for  the  readiness  and  accuracy  with 
which  she  wrote  about  it.  She  was  always  very 
careful  not  to  meddle  with  matters  which  she  did 
not  thoroughly  understand.  She  never  touched  up- 
on politics,  law,  or  medicine,  —  subjects  which  some 
novel  writers  have  ventured  on  rather  too  boldly, 
and  have  treated,  perhaps,  with  more  brilliancy 
than  accuracy.  But  with  ships  and  sailors  she 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  187 

felt  herself  at  home,  or  at  least  could  always  trust 
to  ,a  brotherly  critic  to  keep  her  right.  I  believe 
that  no  flaw  has  ever  been  found  in  her  sea- 
manship, either  in  " Mansfield  Park'7  or  in 
"  Persuasion. " 

But  dearest  of  all  to  the  heart  of  Jane  was  her 
sister  Cassandra,  about  three  years  her  senior. 
Their  sisterly  affection  for  each  other  could 
scarcely  be  exceeded.  Perhaps  it  began  on  Jane's 
side  with  the  feeling  of  deference  natural  to  a  lov- 
ing child  towards  a  kind  elder  sister.  Something 
of  this  feeling  always  remained;  and  even  in  the 
maturity  of  her  powers,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of 
increasing  success,  she  would  still  speak  of  Cas- 
sandra as  of  one  wiser  and  better  than  herself.  In 
childhood,  when  the  elder  was  sent  to  the  school  of 
a  Mrs.  Latournelle,  in  the  Forbury  at  Beading, 
the  younger  went  with  her,  not  because  she  was 
thought  old  enough  to  profit  much  by  the  instruc- 
tion there  imparted,  but  because  she  would  have 
been  miserable  without  her  sister;  her  mother 
observing  that,  "  if  Cassandra  were  going  to  have 
her  head  cut  off,  Jane  would  insist  on  sharing 
her  fate."  This  attachment  was  never  interrupted 
or  weakened.  They  lived  in  the  same  home,  and 
shared  the  same  bedroom,  till  separated  by  death. 
They  were  not  exactly  alike.  Cassandra's  was 
the  colder  and  calmer  disposition;  she  was  always 
prudent  and  well  judging,  but  with  less  outward 
demonstration  of  feeling  and  less  sunniness  of 
temper  than  Jane  possessed.  It  was  remarked  in 
her  family  that  "  Cassandra  had  the  merit  of  hav- 
ing her  temper  always  under  command,  but  that 


188  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

Jane  had  the  happiness  of  a  temper  that  never  re- 
quired to  be  commanded. "  When  "  Sense  and 
Sensibility "  came  out,  some  persons,  who  knew 
the  family  slightly,  surmised  that  the  two  elder 
Miss  Dash  woods  were  intended  by  the  author  for 
her  sister  and  herself;  but  this  could  not  be  the 
case.  Cassandra's  character  might  indeed  repre- 
sent the  "  sense"  of  Elinor,  but  Jane's  had  little 
in  common  with  the  "sensibility"  of  Marianne. 
The  young  woman  who,  before  the  age  of  twenty, 
could  so  clearly  discern  the  failings  of  Marianne 
Dashwood,  could  hardly  have  been  subject  to  them 
herself. 

This  was  the  small  circle,  continually  enlarged, 
however,  by  the  increasing  families  of  four  of  her 
brothers,  within  which  Jane  Austen  found  hei 
wholesome  pleasures,  duties,  and  interests,  and 
beyond  which  she  went  very  little  into  society 
during  the  last  ten  years  of  her  life.  There  was 
so  much  that  was  agreeable  and  attractive  in  this 
family  party  that  its  members  may  be  excused  if 
they  were  inclined  to  live  somewhat  too  exclu- 
sively within  it.  They  might  see  in  each  other 
much  to  love  and  esteem,  and  something  to  ad- 
mire. The  family  talk  had  abundance  of  spirit 
and  vivacity,  and  was  never  troubled  by  disagree- 
ments even  in  little  matters,  for  it  was  not  their 
habit  to  dispute  or  argue  with  each  other;  above 
all,  there  was  strong  family  affection  and  firm 
union,  never  to  be  broken  but  by  death.  It  can- 
not be  doubted  that  all  this  had  its  influence  on 
the  author  in  the  construction  of  her  stories,  in 
which  a  family  party  usually  supplies  the  narrow 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  189 

stage,  while  the  interest  is  made  to  revolve  round 
a  few  actors. 

It  will  be  seen  also  that  though  her  circle  of 
society  was  small,  yet  she  found  in  her  neighbor- 
hood persons  of  good  taste  and  cultivated  minds. 
Her  acquaintance,  in  fact,  constituted  the  very 
class  from  which  she  took  her  imaginary  charac- 
ters, ranging  from  the  member  of  Parliament,  or 
large  landed  proprietor,  to  the  young  curate  or 
younger  midshipman  of  equally  good  family ;  and 
I  think  that  the  influence  of  these  early  associa- 
tions may  be  traced  in  her  writings,  especially  in 
two  particulars:  first,  that  she  is  entirely  free 
from  the  vulgarity,  which  is  so  offensive  in  some 
novels,  of  dwelling  on  the  outward  appendages 
of  wealth  or  rank,  as  if  they  were  things  to  which 
the  writer  was  unaccustomed;  and,  secondly,  that 
she  deals  as  little  with  very  low  as  with  very  high 
stations  in  life.  She  does  not  go  lower  than  the 
Miss  Steeles,  Mrs.  Elton,  and  John  Thorpe,  a  peo- 
ple of  bad  taste  and  underbred  manners,  such  as 
are  actually  found  sometimes  mingling  with  bet- 
ter society.  She  has  nothing  resembling  the  Brang- 
tons,  or  Mr.  Dubster  and  his  friend  Tom  Hicks, 
with  whom  Madame  D'Arblay  loved  to  season  her 
stories,  and  to  produce  striking  contrasts  to  her 
well-bred  characters. 


190  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  II 

DESCRIPTION  or  STEVENTON — LIFE  AT  STEVENTON — 
CHANGES  OP  HABITS  AND  CUSTOMS  IN  THE  LAST 
CENTURY. 

As  the  first  twenty-five  years,  more  than  half  of 
the  brief  life  of  Jane  Austen,  were  spent  in  the 
parsonage  of  Steventon,  some  description  of  that 
place  ought  to  be  given.  Steventon  is  a  small 
rural  village  upon  the  chalk  hills  of  north  Hants, 
situated  in  a  winding  valley  about  seven  miles 
from  Basingstoke.  The  South-Western  Railway 
crosses  it  by  a  short  embankment,  and,  as  it 
curves  round,  presents  a  good  view  of  it  on  the 
left-hand  to  those  who  are  travelling  down  the 
line,  about  three  miles  before  entering  the  tunnel 
under  Popham  Beacon.  It  may  be  known  to 
some  sportsmen,  as  lying  in  one  of  the  best  por- 
tions of  the  Vine  Hunt.  It  is  certainly  not  a 
picturesque  country,  —  it  presents  no  grand  or 
extensive  views ;  but  the  features  are  small,  rather 
plain.  The  surface  continually  swells  and  sinks, 
but  the  hills  are  not  bold,  nor  the  valleys  deep; 
and  though  it  is  sufficiently  well  clothed  with 
woods  and  hedgerows,  yet  the  poverty  of  the  soil 
in  most  places  prevents  the  timber  from  attaining 
a  large  size.  Still  it  has  its  beauties.  The  lanes 
wind  along  in  a  natural  curve,  continually  fringed 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  191 

with  irregular  borders  of  native  turf,  and  lead  to 
pleasant  nooks  and  corners.  One  who  knew  and 
loved  it  well  very  happily  expressed  its  quiet 
charms,  when  he  wrote,  — 

True  taste  is  not  fastidious,  nor  rejects, 
Because  they  may  not  come  within  the  rule 
Of  composition  pure  and  picturesque, 
Unnumbered  simple  scenes  which  fill  the  leaves 
Of  Nature's  sketch-book." 

Of  this  somewhat  tame  country,  Steventon,  from 
the  fall  of  the  ground,  and  the  abundance  of  its 
timber,  is  certainly  one  of  the  prettiest  spots ;  yet 
one  cannot  be  surprised  that,  when  Jane's  mother, 
a  little  before  her  marriage,  was  shown  the  scenery 
of  her  future  home,  she  should  have  thought  it  un- 
attractive, compared  with  the  broad  river,  the  rich 
valley,  and  the  noble  hills  which  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  behold  at  her  native  home  near 
Henley-upon-Thames. 

The  house  itself  stood  in  a  shallow  valley,  sur- 
rounded by  sloping  meadows,  well  sprinkled  with 
elm  trees,  at  the  end  of  a  small  village  of  cottages, 
each  well  provided  with  a  garden,  scattered  about 
prettily  on  either  side  of  the  road.  It  was  suffi- 
ciently commodious  to  hold  pupils  in  addition  to  a 
growing  family,  and  was  in  those  times  consid- 
ered to  be  above  the  average  of  parsonages ;  but  the 
rooms  were  finished  with  less  elegance  than  would 
now  be  found  in  the  most  ordinary  dwellings.  No 
cornice  marked  the  junction  of  wall  and  ceiling; 
while  the  beams  which  supported  the  upper  floors 
projected  into  the  rooms  below  in  all  their  naked 


192  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

simplicity,  covered  only  by  a  coat  of  paint  or  white- 
wash: accordingly  it  has  since  been  considered  un- 
worthy of  being  the  rectory  house  of  a  family  living, 
and  about  forty-five  years  ago  it  was  pulled  down  for 
the  purpose  of  erecting  a  new  house  in  a  far  better 
situation  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley. 

North  of  the  house,  the  road  from  Deane  to  Pop- 
ham  Lane  ran  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  the  front 
to  allow  a  carriage-drive,  through  turf  and  trees. 
On  the  south  side  the  ground  rose  gently,  and  was 
occupied  by  one  of  those  old-fashioned  gardens  in 
which  vegetables  and  flowers  are  combined,  flanked 
and  protected  on  the  east  by  one  of  the  thatched 
mud-walls  common  in  that  country,  and  overshad- 
owed by  fine  elms.  Along  the  upper  or  southern 
side  of  this  garden  ran  a  terrace  of  the  finest  turf, 
which  must  have  been  in  the  writer's  thoughts 
when  she  described  Catherine  Morland's  childish 
delight  in  "  rolling  down  the  green  slope  at  the 
back  of  the  house." 

But  the  chief  beauty  of  Steventon  consisted  in 
its  hedgerows.  A  hedgerow,  in  that  country,  does 
not  mean  a  thin,  formal  line  of  quickset,  but  an  ir- 
regular border  of  copse-wood  and  timber,  often  wide 
enough  to  contain  within  it  a  winding  footpath  or 
a  rough  cart  track.  Under  its  shelter  the  earliest 
primroses,  anemones,  and  wild  hyacinths  were  to 
be  found j  sometimes,  the  first  bird's-nest;  and, 
now  and  then,  the  unwelcome  adder.  Two  such 
hedgerows  radiated,  as  it  were,  from  the  parsonage 
garden.  One,  a  continuation  of  the  turf  terrace,  pro- 
ceeded westward,  forming  the  southern  boundary 
of  the  home  meadows  j  and  was  formed  into  a  rustic 


A  MEMOIK  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  193 

shrubbery,  with  occasional  seats,  entitled  "The 
Wood  Walk.7'  The  other  ran  straight  up  the  hill, 
under  the  name  of  "The  Church  Walk,"  because 
it  led  to  the  parish  church,  as  well  as  to  a  fine  old 
manor-house,  of  Henry  VIII.' s  time,  occupied  by 
a  family  named  Digweed,  who  have  for  more  than 
a  century  rented  it,  together  with  the  chief  farm  in 
the  parish.  The  church  itself  —  I  speak  of  it  as  it 
then  was,  before  the  improvements  made  by  the 
present  rector  — 

"  A  little  spireless  fane, 
Just  seen  above  the  woody  lane," 

might  have  appeared  mean  and  uninteresting  to  an 
ordinary  observer;  but  the  adept  in  church  archi- 
tecture would  have  known  that  it  must  have  stood 
there  some  seven  centuries,  and  would  have  found 
beauty  in.  the  very  narrow  early  English  windows, 
as  well  as  in  the  general  proportions  of  its  little 
chancel;  while  its  solitary  position,  far  from  the 
hum  of  the  village,  and  within  sight  of  no  habita- 
tion, except  a  glimpse  of  the  gray  manor-house 
through  its  circling  screen  of  sycamores,  has  in  it 
something  solemn  and  appropriate  to  the  last  rest- 
ing-place of  the  silent  dead.  Sweet  violets,  both 
purple  and  white,  grow  in  abundance  beneath  its 
south  wall.  One  may  imagine  for  how  many  cen- 
turies the  ancestors  of  these  little  flowers  have  oc- 
cupied that  undisturbed,  sunny  nook,  and  may 
think  how  few  living  families  can  boast  of  as  an- 
cient a  tenure  of  their  land.  Large  elms  protrude 
their  rough  branches;  old  hawthorns  shed  their 
annual  blossoms  over  the  graves;  and  the  hollow 
vew-tree  must  be  at  least  coeval  with  the  church. 

13 


194  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  beauties  or  defects  of 
the  surrounding  scenery,  this  was  the  residence  of 
Jane  Austen  for  twenty-five  years.  This  was  the 
cradle  of  her  genius.  These  were  the  first  objects 
which  inspired  her  young  heart  with  a  sense  of  the 
beauties  of  nature.  In  strolls  along  those  wood- 
walks  thick-coming  fancies  rose  in  her  mind,  and 
gradually  assumed  the  forms  in  which  they  came 
forth  to  the  world.  In  that  simple  church  she 
brought  them  all  into  subjection  to  the  piety  which 
ruled  her  in  life,  and  supported  her  in  death. 

The  home  at  Steventon  must  have  been,  for 
many  years,  a  pleasant  and  prosperous  one.  The 
family  was  unbroken  by  death,  and  seldom  visited 
by  sorrow.  Their  situation  had  some  peculiar 
advantages  beyond  those  of  ordinary  rectories. 
Steventon  was  a  family  living.  Mr.  Knight,  the 
patron,  was  also  proprietor  of  nearly  the  whole 
parish.  He  never  resided  there,  and  consequently 
the  rector  and  his  children  came  to  be  regarded  in 
the  neighborhood  as  a  kind  of  representatives  of  the 
family.  They  shared  with  the  principal  tenant 
the  command  of  an  excellent  manor,  and  enjoyed, 
in  this  reflected  way,  some  of  the  consideration 
usually  awarded  to  landed  proprietors.  They  were 
not  rich,  but,  aided  by  Mr.  Austen's  powers  of  teach- 
ing, they  had  enough  to  afford  a  good  education  to 
their  sons  and  daughters,  to  mix  in  the  best  society 
of  the  neighborhood,  and  to  exercise  a  liberal  hospi- 
tality to  their  own  relations  and  friends.  A  car- 
riage and  a  pair  of  horses  were  kept.  This  might 
imply  a  higher  style  of  living  in  our  days  than  it 
did  in  theirs.  There  were  then  no  assessed  taxes. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  195 

The  carriage,  once  bought,  entailed  little  further  ex- 
pense ;  and  the  horses  probably,  like  Mr.  Bennet's, 
were  often  employed  on  farm  work.  Moreover,  it 
should  be  remembered  that  a  pair  of  horses  in  those 
days  were  almost  necessary,  if  ladies  were  to  move 
about  at  all ;  for  neither  the  condition  of  the  roads 
nor  the  style  of  carriage-building  admitted  of  any 
comfortable  vehicle  being  drawn  by  a  single  horse. 
When  one  looks  at  the  few  specimens  still  remain- 
ing of  coach-building  in  the  last  century,  it  strikes 
one  that  the  chief  object  of  the  builders  must  have 
been  to  combine  the  greatest  possible  weight  with 
the  least  possible  amount  of  accommodation. 

The  family  lived  in  close  intimacy  with  two 
cousins,  Edward  and  Jane  Cooper,  the  children  of 
Mrs.  Austen's  eldest  sister,  and  Dr.  Cooper,  the 
vicar  of  Sonning,  near  Reading.  The  Coopers 
lived  for  some  years  at  Bath,  which  seems  to  have 
been  much  frequented  in  those  days  by  clergymen 
retiring  from  work.  I  believe  that  Cassandra  and 
Jane  sometimes  visited  them  there,  and  that  Jane 
thus  acquired  the  intimate  knowledge  of  the  topog- 
raphy and  customs  of  Bath,  which  enabled  her  to 
write  "Northanger  Abbey"  long  before  she  re- 
sided there  herself.  After  the  death  of  their  own 
parents,  the  two  young  Coopers  paid  long  visits  at 
Steventon.  Edward  Cooper  did  not  live  undistin- 
guished. When  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford,  he 
gained  the  prize  for  Latin  hexameters  on  "  Hortus 
Anglicus  "  in  1791;  and  in  later  life  he  was 
known  by  a  work  on  prophecy,  called  "  The 
Crisis,'7  and  other  religious  publications,  espe- 
cially for  several  volumes  of  Sermons,  much 


196  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

preached  in  many  pulpits  in  my  youth.  Jane 
Cooper  was  married  from  her  uncle's  house  at 
Steventon,  to  Captain,  afterwards  Sir  Thomas,  Wil- 
liams, under  whom  Charles  Austen  served  in 
several  ships.  She  was  a  dear  friend  of  her  name- 
sake, but  was  fated  to  become  a  cause  of  great 
sorrow  to  her,  for  a  few  years  after  the  marriage 
she  was  suddenly  killed  by  an  accident  to  her 
carriage. 

There  was  another  cousin  closely  associated  with 
them  at  Steventon,  who  must  have  introduced 
greater  variety  into  the  family  circle.  This  was 
the  daughter  of  Mr.  Austen's  only  sister,  Mrs. 
Hancock.  This  cousin  had  been  educated  in 
Paris,  and  married  to  a  Count  de  Feuillade,  of 
whom  I  know  little  more  than  that  he  perished  by 
the  guillotine  during  the  French  Re  volution. 
Perhaps  his  chief  offence  was  his  rank;  but  it  was 
said  that  the  charge  of  "incivism,"  under  which 
he  suffered,  rested  on  the  fact  of  his  having  laid 
down  some  arable  land  into  pasture,  —  a  sure  sign 
of  his  intention  to  embarrass  the  Republican  Gov- 
ernment by  producing  a  famine !  His  wife  escaped 
through  dangers  and  difficulties  to  England,  was 
received  for  some  time  into  her  uncle's  family, 
and  finally  married  her  cousin,  Henry  Austen. 
During  the  short  peace  of  Amiens,  she  and  her 
second  husband  went  to  France,  in  the  hope  of 
recovering  some  of  the  Count's  property,  and  there 
narrowly  escaped  being  included  amongst  the 
detenus.  Orders  had  been  given  by  Buonaparte's 
Government  to  detain  all  English  travellers;  but  at 
the  post-houses  Mrs.  Henry  Austen  gave  the  neces- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  197 

sary  orders  herself,  and  her  French  was  so  perfect 
that  she  passed  everywhere  for  a  native,  and  her 
husband  escaped  under  this  protection. 

She  was  a  clever  woman,  and  highly  accom- 
plished, after  the  French  rather  than  the  English 
mode;  and  in  those  days,  when  intercourse  with 
the  Continent  was  long  interrupted  by  war,  such 
an  element  in  the  society  of  a  country  parsonage 
must  have  been  a  rare  acquisition.  The  sisters 
may  have  been  more  indebted  to  this  cousin  than 
to  Mrs.  La  Tournelle's  teaching  for  the  consider- 
able knowledge  of  French  which  they  possessed. 
She  also  took  the  principal  parts  in  the  private 
theatricals  in  which  the  family  several  times  in- 
dulged, —  having  their  summer  theatre  in  the  barn, 
and  their  winter  one  within  the  narrow  limits  of 
the  dining-room,  where  the  number  of  the  audience 
must  have  been  very  limited.  On  these  occasions, 
the  prologues  and  epilogues  were  written  by  Jane's 
eldest  brother,  and  some  of  them  are  very  vigorous 
and  amusing.  Jane  was  only  twelve  years  old  at 
the  time  of  the  earliest  of  these  representations, 
and  not  more  than  fifteen  when  the  last  took 
place.  She  was,  however,  an  early  observer,  and 
it  may  be  reasonably  supposed  that  some  of  the  in- 
cidents and  feelings  which  are  so  vividly  painted 
in  the  Mansfield  Park  theatricals  are  due  to  her 
recollections  of  these  entertainments. 

Some  time  before  they  left  Steventon,  one  great 
affliction  came  upon  the  family.  Cassandra  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  young  clergyman.  He 
had  not  sufficient  private  fortune  to  permit  an 
immediate  union;  but  the  engagement  was  not 


198  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

likely  to  be  a  hopeless  or  a  protracted  one,  for  he 
had  a  prospect  of  early  preferment  from  a  noble- 
man with  whom  he  was  connected  both  by  birth 
and  by  personal  friendship.  He  accompanied  this 
friend  to  the  West  Indies,  as  chaplain  to  his  regi- 
ment, and  there  died  of  yellow-fever,  — to  the  great 
concern  of  his  friend  and  patron,  who  afterwards 
declared  that,  if  he  had  known  of  the  engagement, 
he  would  not  have  permitted  him  to  go  out  to 
such  a  climate*  This  little  domestic  tragedy 
caused  great  and  lasting  grief  to  the  principal 
sufferer,  and  could  not  but  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
whole  part}'-.  The  sympathy  of  Jane  was  probably, 
from  her  age  and  her  peculiar  attachment  to  her 
sister,  the  deepest  of  all. 

Of  Jane  herself  I  know  of  no  such  definite  tale 
of  love  to  relate.  Her  reviewer  in  the  "  Quar- 
terly, "  of  January,  1821,  observes,  concerning  the 
attachment  of  Fanny  Price  to  Edmund  Bertram: 
"The  silence  in  which  this  passion  is  cherished, 
the  slender  hopes  and  enjoyments  by  which  it  is 
fed,  the  restlessness  and  jealousy  with  which  it 
fills  a  mind  naturally  active,  contented,  and  un- 
suspicious, the  manner  in  which  it  tinges  every 
event,  and  every  reflection,  are  painted  with  a 
vividness  and  a  detail  of  which  we  can  scarcely 
conceive  any  one  but  a  female,  and  we  should 
almost  add,  a  female  writing  from  recollection, 
capable. "  This  conjecture,  however  probable,  was 
wide  of  the  mark.  The  picture  was  drawn  from 
the  intuitive  perceptions  of  genius,  not  from  per- 
sonal  experience.  In  no  circumstance  of  her  life 
was  there  any  similarity  between  herself  and  her 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  199 

heroine  in  "  Mansfield  Park."  She  did  not  indeed 
pass  through  life  without  being  the  object  of 
warm  affection.  In  her  youth  she  had  declined 
the  addresses  of  a  gentleman  who  had  the  recom- 
mendations of  good  character  and  connections  and 
position  in  life,  —  of  everything,  in  fact,  except 
the  subtle  power  of  touching  her  heart.  There  is, 
however,  one  passage  of  romance  in  her  history 
with  which  I  am  imperfectly  acquainted,  and  to 
which  I  am  unable  to  assign  name  or  date  or 
place,  though  I  have  it  on  sufficient  authority. 
Many  years  after  her  death,  some  circumstances 
induced  her  sister  Cassandra  to  break  through  her 
habitual  reticence  and  to  speak  of  it.  She  said 
that,  Avhile  staying  at  some  seaside  place,  they  be- 
came acquainted  with  a  gentleman  whose  charm 
of  person,  mind,  and  manners  was  such  that  Cas- 
sandra thought  him  worthy  to  possess  and  likely 
to  win  her  sister's  love.  When  they  parted,  he 
expressed  his  intention  of  soon  seeing  them  again; 
and  Cassandra  felt  no  doubt  as  to  his  motives.  But 
they  never  again  met.  Within  a  short  time  they 
heard  of  his  sudden  death.  I  believe  that,  if  Jane 
ever  loved,  it  was  this  unnamed  gentleman;  but 
the  acquaintance  had  been  short,  and  I  am  unable 
to  say  whether  her  feelings  were  of  such  a  nature 
as  to  affect  her  happiness. 

Any  description  that  I  might  attempt  of  the 
family  life  at  Steventon,  which  closed  soon  after  I 
was  born,  could  be  little  better  than  a  fancy-piece. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  if  we  look  into  the  house- 
holds of  the  clergy  and  the  small  gentry  of  that 
period,  we  should  see  some  things  which  would 


200  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

seem  strange  to  us,  and  should  miss  many  more  to 
which  we  are  accustomed.  Every  hundred  years, 
and  especially  a  century  like  the  last,  —  marked  by 
an  extraordinary  advance  in  wealth,  luxury,  and 
refinement  of  taste,  as  well  as  in  the  mechanical 
arts  which  embellish  our  houses,  —  must  produce  a 
great  change  in  their  aspect.  These  changes  are 
always  at  work;  they  are  going  on  now,  but  so 
silently  that  we  take  no  note  of  them.  Men  soon 
forget  the  small  objects  which  they  leave  behind 
them  as  they  drift  down  the  stream  of  life.  As 
Pope  says  — 

"  Nor  does  life's  stream  for  observation  stay ; 
It  hurries  all  too  fast  to  mark  their  way." 

Important  inventions,  such  as  the  applications  of 
steam,  gas,  and  electricity,  may  find  their  places 
in  history ;  but  not  so  the  alterations,  great  as  they 
may  be,  which  have  taken  place  in  the  appearance 
of  our  dining  and  drawing  rooms.  Who  can  now 
record  the  degrees  by  which  the  custom  prevalent 
in  my  youth  of  asking  each  other  to  take  wine 
together  at  dinner  became  obsolete?  Who  will  be 
able  to  fix,  twenty  years  hence,  the  date  when  our 
dinners  began  to  be  carved  and  handed  round  by 
servants,  instead  of  smoking  before  our  eyes  and 
noses  on  the  table?  To  record  such  little  matters 
would  indeed  be  "to  chronicle  small  beer.'7  But, 
in  a  slight  memoir  like  this,  I  may  be  allowed  to 
note  some  of  those  changes  in  social  habits  which 
give  a  color  to  history,  but  which  the  historian  has 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  recovering. 

At  that  time  the  dinner-table  presented  a   far 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  201 

less  splendid  appearance  than  it  does  now.  It  was 
appropriated  to  solid  food,  rather  than  to  flowers, 
fruits,  and  decorations.  Nor  was  there  much 
glitter  of  plate  upon  it;  for  the  early  dinner  hour 
rendered  candlesticks  unnecessary,  and  silver  folks 
had  not  come  into  general  use;  while  the  broad 
rounded  end  of  the  knives  indicated  the  substitute 
generally  used  instead  of  them.1 

The  dinners  too  were  more  homely,  though  not 
less  plentiful  and  savory;  and  the  bill  of  fare  in 
one  house  would  not  be  so  like  that  in  another  as 
it  is  now,  for  family  receipts  were  held  in  high 
estimation.  A  grandmother  of  culinary  talent 
could  bequeath  to  her  descendant  fame  for  some 
particular  dish,  and  might  influence  the  family 
dinner  for  many  generations. 

"Dos  est  magna  parentium 
Virtus." 

One  house  would  pride  itself  on  its  ham,  another 
on  its  game-pie,  and  a  third  on  its  superior 

1  The  celebrated  Beau  Brummel,  who  was  so  intimate  with 
George  IV.  as  to  be  able  to  quarrel  with  him,  was  born  in 
1771.  It  is  reported  that  when  he  was  questioned  about  his 
parents,  he  replied  that  it  was  long  since  he  had  heard  of 
them,  but  that  he  imagined  the  worthy  couple  must  have  cut 
their  own  throats  by  that  time,  because  when  he  last  saw 
them  they  were  eating  peas  with  their  knives.  Yet  Brum. 
mel's  father  had  probably  lived  in  good  society,  and  was 
certainly  able  to  put  his  son  into  a  fashionable  regiment,  and  to 
leave  him  30,000/.2  Raikes  believes  that  he  had  been  Secre- 
tary to  Lord  North.  Thackeray's  idea  that  he  had  been  a  foot- 
man cannot  stand  against  the  authority  of  Raikes,  who  was 
intimate  with  the  son. 


2  Raikes's  Memoirs,  vol.  ii  p.  207. 


202  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

furmity,  or  tausey-pudding.  Beer  and  home-made 
wines,  especially  mead,  were  more  largely  con- 
sumed. Vegetables  were  less  plentiful  and  less 
various.  Potatoes  were  used,  but  not  so  abun- 
dantly as  now ;  and  there  was  an  idea  they  were  to 
be  eaten  only  with  roast  meat.  They  were  novel- 
ties to  a  tenant's  wife  who  was  entertained  at 
Steventon  Parsonage,  certainly  less  than  a  hundred 
years  ago;  and  when  Mrs.  Austen  advised  her  to 
plant  them  in  her  own  garden,  she  replied,  "No, 
no;  they  are  very  well  for  you  gentry,  but  they 
must  be  terribly  costly  to  rear." 

But  a  still  greater  difference  would  be  found  in 
the  furniture  of  the  rooms,  which  would  appear 
to  us  lamentably  scanty.  There  was  a  general 
deficiency  of  carpeting  in  sitting-rooms,  bed-rooms, 
and  passages.  A  pianoforte,  or  rather  a  spinnet 
or  harpsichord,  was  by  no  means  a  necessary 
appendage.  It  was  to  be  found  only  where  there 
was  a  decided  taste  for  music  (not  so  common  then 
as  now),  or  in  such  great  Iftuses  as  would  probably 
contain  a  billiard-table.  There  would  often  be 
but  one  sofa  in  the  house,  and  that  a  stiff,  angular, 
uncomfortable  article.  There  were  no  deep  easy- 
chairs,  nor  other  appliances  for  lounging;  for  to 
lie  down,  or  even  to  lean  back,  was  a  luxury 
permitted  only  to  old  persons  or  invalids.  It  was 
said  of  a  nobleman,  a  personal  friend  of  George 
III.  and  a  model  gentleman  of  his  day,  that  he 
would  have  made  the  tour  of  Europe  without  ever 
touching  the  back  of  his  travelling  carriage. 
But  perhaps  we  should,  be  most  struck  with  the 
total  absence  of  those  elegant  little  articles  which 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  203 

now  embellish  and  encumber  our  drawing-room 
tables.  We  should  miss  the  sliding  bookcases  and 
picture-stands,  the  letterweighing  machines  and 
envelope  cases,  the  periodicals  and  illustrated 
newpapers,  —  above  all,  the  countless  swarm  of 
photograph  books  which  now  threaten  to  swallow 
up  all  space.  A  small  writing-desk,  with  a 
smaller  work-box,  or  netting-case,  was  all  that 
each  young  lady  contributed  to  occupy  the  table; 
for  the  large  family  work-basket,  though  often 
produced  in  the  parlor,  lived  in  the  closet. 

There  must  have  been  more  dancing  throughout 
the  country  in  those  days  than  there  is  now ;  and  it 
seems  to  have  sprung  up  more  spontaneously,  as  if 
it  were  a  natural  production,  with  less  fastidious- 
ness as  to  the  quality  of  music,  lights,  and  floor. 
Many  country  towns  had  a  monthly  ball  through- 
out the  winter,  in  some  of  which  the  same  apart- 
ment served  for  dancing  and  tea  room.  Dinner 
parties  more  frequently  ended  with  an  extempore 
dance  on  the  carpet,  to  the  music  of  a  harpsichord 
in  the  house,  or  a  fiddle  from  the  village.  This 
was  always  supposed  to  be  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  young  people;  but  many  who  had  little 
pretension  to  youth  were  very  ready  to  join  in  it. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Jane  herself  enjoyed 
dancing,  for  she  attributes  this  taste  to  her 
favorite  heroines;  in  most  of  her  works,  a  ball 
or  a  private  dance  is  mentioned,  and  made  of 
importance. 

Many  things  connected  with  the  ball-rooms  of 
those  days  have  now  passed  into  oblivion.  The 
barbarous  law  which  confined  the  lady  to  one 


204  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

partner  throughout  the  evening  must  indeed  have 
been  abolished  before  Jane  went  to  balls.  It  must 
be  observed,  however,  that  this  custom  was  in  one 
respect  advantageous  to  the  gentleman,  inasmuch 
as  it  rendered  his  duties  more  practicable.  He  was 
bound  to  call  upon  his  partner  the  next  morning, 
and  it  must  have  been  convenient  to  have  only  one 
lady  for  whom  he  was  obliged 

"  To  gallop  all  the  country  over, 
The  last  night's  partner  to  behold, 
And  humbly  hope  she  caught  no  cold." 

But  the  stately  minuet  still  reigned  supreme; 
and  every  regular  ball  commenced  with  it.  It  was 
a  slow  and  solemn  movement,  —  expressive  of 
grace  and  dignity,  rather  than  of  merriment.  It 
abounded  in  formal  bows  and  courtesies,  with  meas- 
ured paces,  forwards,  backwards,  and  sideways,  and 
many  complicated  gyrations.  It  was  executed  by 
one  lady  and  gentleman,  amidst  the  admiration,  or 
the  criticism,  of  surrounding  spectators.  In  its 
earlier  and  most  palmy  days,  as  when  Sir  Charles 
and  Lady  G-randison  delighted  the  company  by 
dancing  it  at  their  own  wedding,  the  gentleman 
wore  a  dress  sword,  and  the  lady  was  armed  with  a 
fan  of  nearly  equal  dimensions.  Addison  observes 
that  "  women  are  armed  with  fans,  as  men  with 
swords,  and  sometimes  do  more  execution  with 
them."  The  graceful  carriage  of  each  weapon  was 
considered  a  test  of  high  breeding.  The  clownish 
man  was  in  danger  of  being  tripped  up  by  his 
sword  getting  between  his  legs;  the  fan  held 
clumsily  looked  more  of  a  burden  than  an  orna- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  205 

ment ;  while  in  the  hands  of  an  adept  it  could  be 
made  to  speak  a  language  of  its  own.1  It  was  not 
every  one  who  felt  qualified  to  make  this  public 
exhibition,  and  I  have  been  told  that  those  ladies 
who  intended  to  dance  minuets  used  to  distinguish 
themselves  from  others  by  wearing  a  particular 
kind  of  lappet  on  their  head-dress.  I  have  heard  also 
of  another  curious  proof  of  the  respect  in  which 
this  dance  was  held.  Gloves  immaculately  clean 
were  considered  requisite  for  its  due  performance, 
while  gloves  a  little  soiled  were  thought  good 
enough  for  a  country  dance;  and  accordingly  some 
prudent  ladies  provided  themselves  with  two  pairs 
for  their  several  purposes.  The  minuet  expired 
with  the  last  century ;  but  long  after  it  had  ceased 
to  be  danced  publicly  it  was  taught  to  boys  and 
girls,  in  order  to  give  them  a  graceful  carriage. 

Hornpipes,  cotillons,  and  reels  were  occasionally 
danced;  but  the  chief  occupation  of  the  evening 
was  the  interminable  country  dance,  in  which  all 
could  join.  This  dance  presented  a  great  show  of 
enjoyment,  but  it  was  not  without  its  peculiar 
troubles.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  ranged 
apart  from  each  other,  in  opposite  rows,  so  that  the 
facilities  for  flirtation,  or  interesting  intercourse, 
were  not  so  great  as  might  have  been  desired  by 

1  See  "  Spectator,"  No.  102,  on  the  Fan  Exercise.  Old 
gentlemen  who  had  survived  the  fashion  of  wearing  swords 
were  known  to  regret  the  disuse  of  that  custom,  because  it 
put  an  end  to  one  way  of  distinguishing  those  who  had,  from 
those  who  had  not,  been  used  to  good  society.  To  wear  the 
sword  easily  was  an  art  which,  like  swimming  and  skating, 
required  to  be  learned  in  youth.  Children  could  practise  it 
early  with  their  toy  swords  adapted  to  their  size. 


206  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

both  parties.  Much  heart-burning  and  discontent 
sometimes  arose  as  to  who  should  stand  above 
whom,  and  especially  as  to  who  was  entitled  to  the 
high  privilege  of  calling  and  leading  off  the  first 
dance;  and  no  little  indignation  was  felt  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  room  when  any  of  the  leading 
couples  retired  prematurely  from  their  duties,  and 
did  not  condescend  to  dance  up  and  down  the 
whole  set.  We  may  rejoice  that  these  causes  of 
irritation  no  longer  exist ;  and  that  if  such  feelings 
as  jealousy,  rivalry,  and  discontent  ever  touch 
celestial  bosoms  in  the  modern  ball-room  they  must 
arise  from  different  and  more  recondite  sources. 

I  am  tempted  to  add  a  little  about  the  difference 
of  personal  habits.  It  may  be  asserted  as  a  general 
truth,  that  less  was  left  to  the  charge  and  discretion 
of  servants,  and  more  was  done,  or  superintended, 
by  the  masters  and  mistresses.  With  regard  to 
the  mistresses,  it  is,  I  believe,  generally  under- 
stood, that  at  the  time  to  which  I  refer,  a  hundred 
years  ago,  they  took  a  personal  part  in  the  higher 
branches  of  cookery,  as  well  as  in  the  concoction  of 
home-made  wines  and  distilling  of  herbs  for 
domestic  medicines,  which  are  nearly  allied  to  the 
same  art.  Ladies  did  not  disdain  to  spin  the 
thread  of  which  the  household  linen  was  woven. 
Some  ladies  liked  to  wash  with  their  own  hands 
their  choice  china  after  breakfast  or  tea.  In  one 
of  my  earliest  child's  books,  a  little  girl,  the 
daughter  of  a  gentleman,  is  taught  by  her  mother 
to  make  her  own  bed  before  leaving  her  chamber. 
It  was  not  so  much  that  they  had  not  servants  to 
do  all  these  things  for  them,  as  that  they  took  an 


A  MEMOIE  OF  JANE  AUSTEN  207 

Interest  in  such  occupations.  And  it  must  be 
borne  in  mind  how  many  sources  of  interest 
enjoyed  by  this  generation  were  then  closed,  or 
very  scantily  opened,  to  ladies.  A  very  small 
minority  of  them  cared  much  for  literature  or 
science.  Music  was  not  a  very  common,  and  draw- 
ing was  a  still  rarer,  accomplishment ;  needlework, 
in  some  form  or  other,  was  their  chief  sedentary 
employment. 

But  I  doubt  whether  the  rising  generation  are 
equally  aware  how  much  gentlemen  also  did  for 
themselves  in  those  times,  and  whether  some  things 
that  I  can  mention  will  not  be  a  surprise  to  them. 
Two  homely  proverbs  were  held  in  higher  estima- 
tion in  my  early  days  than  they  are  now:  "The 
master's  eye  makes  the  horse  fat;"  and,  "If  you 
would  be  well  served,  serve  yourself."  Some  gen- 
tlemen took  pleasure  in  being  their  own  gardeners, 
performing  all  the  scientific,  and  some  of  the  man- 
ual, work  themselves.  Well-dressed  young  men 
of  my  acquaintance,  who  had  their  coat  from  a 
London  tailor,  would  always  brush  their  evening 
suit  themselves,  rather  than  intrust  it  to  the  care- 
lessness of  a  rough  servant,  and  to  the  risks  of  dirt 
and  grease  in  the  kitchen;  for  in  those  days  ser^ 
vants'  halls  were  not  common  in  the  houses  of  the 
clergy  and  the  smaller  country  gentry.  It  was 
quite  natural  that  Catherine  Morland  should  have 
contrasted  the  magnificence  of  the  oifices  at  Nor- 
thanger  Abbey  with  the  few  shapeless  pantries  in 
her  father's  parsonage.  A  young  man  who  expected 
to  have  his  things  packed  or  unpacked  for  him  by 
a  servant,  when  he  travelled,  would  have  been 


208  A  MEMOIR   OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

thought  exceptionally  fine,  or  exceptionally  lazy. 
When  my  uncle  undertook  to  teach  me  to  shoot, 
his  first  lesson  was  how  to  clean  my  own  gun.  It  was 
thought  meritorious  011  the  evening  of  a  hunting 
day,  to  turn  out  after  dinner,  lantern  in  hand, 
and  visit  the  stable,  to  ascertain  that  the  horse  had 
been  well  cared  for.  This  was  of  the  more  impor- 
tance, because,  previous  to  the  introduction  of  clip- 
ping, about  the  year  1820,  it  was  a  difficult  and 
tedious  work  to  make  a  long-coated  hunter  dry  and 
comfortable,  and  was  often  very  imperfectly  done. 
Of  course,  such  things  were  not  practised  by  those 
who  had  gamekeepers,  and  stud-grooms,  and  plenty 
of  well-trained  servants;  but  they  were  practised 
by  many  who  were  unequivocally  gentlemen,  and 
whose  grandsons,  occupying  the  same  position  in 
life,  may  perhaps  be  astonished  at  being  told  that 
"such  things  were." 

I  have  drawn  pictures  for  which  my  own  expe- 
rience, or  what  I  heard  from  others  in  my  youth, 
have  supplied  the  materials.  Of  course,  they  cannot 
be  universally  applicable.  Such  details  varied  in 
various  circles,  and  were  changed  very  gradually; 
nor  can  I  pretend  to  tell  how  much  of  what  I  have 
said  is  descriptive  of  the  family  life  at  Steventon  in 
Jane  Austen's  youth.  I  am  sure  that  the  ladies 
there  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  mysteries  of  the 
stew-pot  or  the  preserving-pan ;  but  it  is  probable 
that  their  way  of  life  differed  a  little  from  ours, 
and  would  have  appeared  to  us  more  homely.  It 
may  be  that  useful  articles,  which  would  not  now 
be  produced  in  drawing-rooms,  were  hemmed,  and 
marked,  and  darned  in  the  old-fashioned  parlor. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  209 

But  all  this  concerned  only  the  outer  life;  there 
was  as  much  cultivation  and  refinement  of  mind  as 
now,  with  probably  more  studied  courtesy  and  cere- 
mony of  manner  to  visitors;  whilst  certainly  in 
that  family  literary  pursuits  were  not  neglected. 

I  remember  to  have  heard  of  only  two  little 
things  different  from  modern  customs.  One  was 
that  on  hunting  mornings  the  young  men  usually 
took  their  hasty  breakfast  in  the  kitchen.  The 
early  hour  at  which  hounds  then  met  may  account 
for  this ;  and  probably  the  custom  began,  if  it  did 
not  end,  when  they  were  boys ;  for  they  hunted  at 
an  early  age,  in  a  scrambling  sort  of  way,  upon 
any  pony  or  donkey  that  they  could  procure,  or,  in 
default  of  such  luxuries,  on  foot.  I  have  been  told 
that  Sir  Francis  Austen,  when  seven  years  old, 
bought  on  his  own  account,  it  must  be  supposed 
with  his  father's  permission,  a  pony  for  a  guinea 
and  a  half ;  and  after  riding  him  with  great  success 
for  two  seasons,  sold  him  for  a  guinea  more.  One 
may  wonder  how  the  child  could  have  so  much 
money,  and  how  the  animal  could  have  been  ob- 
tained for  so  little.  The  same  authority  informs 
me  that  his  first  cloth  suit  was  made  from  a  scarlet 
habit,  which,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
had  been  his  mother's  usual  morning  dress.  If  all 
this  is  true,  the  future  Admiral  of  the  British 
Fleet  must  have  cut  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the 
hunting-field.  The  other  peculiarity  was  that, 
when  the  roads  were  dirty,  the  sisters  took  long 
walks  in  pattens.  This  defence  against  wet  and 
dirt  is  now  seldom  seen.  The  few  that  remain  are 
banished  from  good  society,  and  employed  only  in 
14 


210  A  MEMOIK  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

menial  work;  but  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago 
they  were  celebrated  in  poetry,  and  considered  so 
clever  a  contrivance  that  Gay,  in  his  "  Trivia," 
ascribes  the  invention  to  a  god  stimulated  by  his 
passion  for  a  mortal  damsel,  and  derives  the  name 
«  Patten  "from  "Patty." 

"  The  patten  now  supports  each  frugal  dame, 
Which  from  the  blue-eyed  Patty  takes  the  name." 

But  mortal  damsels  have  long  ago  discarded  the 
clumsy  implement.  First  it  dropped  its  iron  ring 
and  became  a  clog;  afterwards  it  was  fined  down 
into  the  pliant  galoshe,  —  lighter  to  wear  and  more 
effectual  to  protect,  —  a  no  less  manifest  instance 
of  gradual  improvement  than  Cowper  indicates 
when  he  traces  through  eighty  lines  of  poetry  his 
"accomplished  sofa"  back  to  the  original  three- 
legged  stool. 

As  an  illustration  of  the  purposes  which  a  patten 
was  intended  to  serve,  I  add  the  following  epigram, 
written  by  Jane  Austen's  uncle,  Mr.  Leigh  Perrot, 
on  reading  in  a  newspaper  the  marriage  of  Captain 
Foote  to  Miss  Patten :  — 

"  Through  the  rough  paths  of  life,  with  a  patten  your  guard, 

May  you  safely  and  pleasantly  jog ; 
May  the  knot  never  slip,  nor  the  ring  press  too  hard, 
Nor  the  Foot  find  the  Patten  a  clog." 

At  the  time  when  Jane  Austen  lived  at  Steven- 
ton,  a  work  was  carried  on  in  the  neighboring  cot- 
tages which  ought  to  be  recorded,  because  it  has 
long  ceased  to  exist. 

Up  to  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  poor 


A  MEMOIE  OF  JANE   AUSTEN.  211 

women  found  profitable  employment  in  spinning 
flax  or  wool.  This  was  a  better  occupation  for 
them  than  straw-plaiting,  inasmuch  as  it  was 
carried  on  at  the  family  hearth,  and  did  not  admit 
of  .gadding  and  gossiping  about  the  village.  The 
implement  used  was  a  long,  narrow  machine  of 
wood,  raised  on  legs,  furnished  at  one  end  with  a 
large  wheel,  and  at  the  other  with  a  spindle,  on 
which  the  flax  or  wool  was  loosely  wrapped,  con- 
nected together  by  a  loop  of  string.  One  hand 
turned  the  wheel,  while  the  other  formed  the 
thread.  The  outstretched  arms,  the  advanced  foot, 
the  sway  of  the  whole  figure  backwards  and  for- 
wards, produced  picturesque  attitudes,  and  dis- 
played whatever  of  grace  or  beauty  the  work-woman 
might  possess.1  Some  ladies  were  fond  of  spin- 
ning; but  they  worked  in  a. quieter  manner,  sitting 
at  a  neat  little  machine  of  varnished  wood,  like 
Timbridge  ware,  generally  turned  by  the  foot,  with 
a  basin  of  water  at  hand  to  supply  the  moisture  re- 
quired for  forming  the  thread,  which  the  cottager 
took  by  a  more  direct  and  natural  process  from  her 
own  mouth.  I  remember  two  such  elegant  little 
wheels  in  our  own  family. 

It  may  be  observed  that  this  hand-spinning  ia 
the  most  primitive  of  female  accomplishments,  and 
can  be  traced  back  to  the  earliest  times.  Ballad 
poetry  and  fairy-tales  are  full  of  allusions  to  it. 
The  term  "  spinster "  still  testifies  to  its  hav- 
ing been  the  ordinary  employment  of  the  Eng- 
lish young  woman.  It  was  the  labor  assigned  to 

1  Mrs.  Gaskell,  in  her  tale  of  "  Sylvia's  Lovers,"  declares  that 
this  hand-spinning  rivalled  harp-playing  in  its  gracefulness. 


212  A  MEMOIK   OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

the  ejected  nuns  by  the  rough  earl  who  said,  "  Go 
spin,  ye  jades,  go  spin.7'  It  was  the  employment 
at  which  Roman  matrons  and  Grecian  princesses 
presided  amongst  their  handmaids.  Heathen  my- 
thology celebrated  it  in  three  Fates  spinning  and 
measuring  out  the  thread  of  human  life.  Holy 
Scripture  honors  it  in  those  "  wise-hearted  women  " 
who  "  did  spin  with  their  hands,  and  brought  that 
which  they  had  spun  "  for  the  construction  of  the 
Tabernacle  in  the  wilderness ;  and  an  old  English 
proverb  carries  it  still  farther  back  to  the  time 
"when  Adam  delved  and  Eve  span."  But,  at 
last,  this  time-honored  domestic  manufacture  is 
quite  extinct  amongst  us,  —  crushed  by  the  power 
of  steam,  overborne  by  a  countless  host  of  spinning- 
jennies,  and  I  can  only  just  remember  some  of 
its  last  struggles  for  existence  in  the  Steventon 
cottages. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  21$ 


CHAPTER  III. 

EARLY  COMPOSITIONS  —  FRIENDS  AT  ASHE  —  AVERT  OLD 
LETTER  —  LINES  ON  THE  DBATH  OF  Mrs.  LEFROY — 
OBSERVATIONS  ON  JANE  AUSTEN'S  LETTER-WRITING  -* 
LETTERS. 

I  KNOW  little  of  Jane  Austen's  childhood.  Her 
mother  followed  a  custom,  not  unusual  in  those 
days,  though  it  seems  strange  to  us,  of  putting  out 
her  babies  to  be  nursed  in  a  cottage  in  the  village. 
The  infant  was  daily  visited  by  one  or  both  of  its 
parents,  and  frequently  brought  to  them  at  the 
parsonage ;  but  the  cottage  was  its  home,  and  must 
have  remained  so  till  it  was  old  enough  to  run 
about  and  talk;  for  I  know  that  one  of  them,  in 
after  life,  used  to  speak  of  his  foster-mother  as 
" Movie,"  the  name  by  which  he  had  called  her 
in  his  infancy.  It  may  be  that  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  parsonage  house  and  the  best  class  of 
cottages  was  not  quite  so  extreme  then  as  it  would 
be  now, —  that  the  one  was  somewhat  less  luxurious, 
and  the  other  less  squalid.  It  would  certainly 
seem  from  the  results  that  it  was  a  wholesome  and 
invigorating  system;  for  the  children  were  all 
strong  and  healthy.  Jane  was  probably  treated 
like  the  rest  in  this  respect.  In  childhood  every 
available  opportunity  of  instruction  was  made  use 
of.  According  to  the  ideas  of  the  time,  she  was 


214  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

well  educated,  though  not  highly  accomplished, 
and  she  certainly  enjoyed  that  important  element 
of  mental  training,  associating  at  home  with  per- 
sons of  cultivated  intellect.  It  cannot  he  doubted 
that  her  early  years  were  bright  and  happy,  liv- 
ing as  she  did  with  indulgent  parents,  in  a  cheerful 
home,  not  without  agreeable  variety  of  society.  To 
these  sources  of  enjoyment  must  be  added  the  first 
stirrings  of  talent  within  her,  and  the  absorbing  in- 
terest of  original  composition.  It  is  impossible  to 
say  at  how  an  early  age  she  began  to  write.  There 
are  copy-books  extant  containing  tales,  some  of 
which  must  have  been  composed  while  she  was  a 
young  girl,  as  they  had  amounted  to  a  considerable 
number  by  the  time  she  was  sixteen.  Her  earli- 
est stories  are  of  a  slight  and  flimsy  texture,  and 
are  generally  intended  to  be  nonsensical;  but  the 
nonsense  has  much  spirit  in  it.  They  are  usually 
preceded  by  a  dedication  of  mock  solemnity  to 
some  one  of  her  family.  It  would  seem  that  the 
grandiloquent  dedications  prevalent  in  those  days 
had  not  escaped  her  youthful  penetration.  Per- 
haps the  most  characteristic  feature  in  these  early 
productions  is  that,  however  puerile  the  matter, 
they  are  always  composed  in  pure  simple  English, 
quite  free  from  the  over-ornamented  style  which 
might  be  expected  from  so  young  a  writer.  One 
of  her  juvenile  effusions  is  given  as  a  specimen 
of  the  kind  of  transitory  amusement  which  Jane 
was  continually  supplying  to  the  family  party. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  215 

THE  MYSTEEY. 

AN   UNFINISHED    COMEDY. 


DEDICATION. 
To  THE  REV.  GEORGE  AUSTEN. 

SIR,  —  I  humbly  solicit  your  patronage  to  the  following 
Comedy,  which,  though  an  unfinished  one,  is,  I  flatter 
myself,  as  complete  a  Mystery  as  any  of  its  kind. 
I  am,  Sir,  your  most  humble  Servant, 

THE  AUTHOR. 

THE  MYSTEEY;   A  COMEDY. 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Men. 

COL  ELLIOTT. 
OLD  HUMBUG. 
YOUNG  HUMBUG. 
SIR  EDWARD  SPANGLE, 
and 

COBYDON. 


Women. 

FANNY  ELLIOTT. 
MRS.  HUMBUG, 

and 
DAPHNE. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.  — A   Garden. 

Enter  COKYDON. 

Corydon.     But    hush :      I    am     interrupted.      [Exit 
CORYDON. 


216  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

Enter  OLD  HUMBUG  and  hit  SON,  talking. 

Old  Hum.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  1  wish  you  to  fol- 
low my  advice.  Are  you  convinced  of  its  propriety  ? 

Young  Hum.  1  am,  sir,  and  will  certainly  act  in  the 
manner  you  have  pointed  out  to  me. 

Old  Hum.    Then  let  us  return  to  the  house.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    II.  —  A    parlor    in    HUMBUG'S    house.     Mrs. 
HUMBUG  and  FANNY  discovered  at  work. 

Mrs.  Hum.    You  understand  me,  my  love  ? 

Fanny.  Perfectly,  ma'am;  pray  continue  your 
narration. 

Mrs.  Hum.  Alas !  it  is  nearly  concluded  ;  for  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  on  the  subject. 

Fanny.    Ah,   here  is  Daphne. 

Enter  DAPHNE. 

Daphne.  My  dear  Mrs.  Humbug,  how  d*  ye  do  ?  Oh, 
Fanny !  it  is  all  over. 

Fanny.     Is  it  indeed? 

Mrs.  Hum.    I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  it. 

Fanny.    Then  't  was  to  no  purpose  that  I  — 

Daphne.    None  upon  earth. 

Mrs.  Hum.     And  what  is  to  become  of  —  ? 

Daphne.  Oh  I  'tis  all  settled.  [Whispers  Mrs. 
HUMBUG.] 

Fanny.     And  how  is  it  determined  ? 

Daphne.     I'll  tell  you.     [Whispers  FANNY.] 

Mrs.  Hum.     And  is  he  to  —  ? 

I  ^a/tine.  I  '11  tell  you  all  I  know  of  the  matter.  [  Whis, 
ptrx  Mrs.  HUMBUG  and  FANNY.] 

Fanny.  Well,  now  I  know  everything  about  it,  I  '11  go 
away. 

Mrs.  Hum.  I 

Daphne.       I    And  9°  ^  L  [Exeunt. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  217 

SCENE  Til.  —  The  curtain  rises,  and  discovers  Sir 
EDWARD  SPANGLE  reclined  in  an  elegant  attitude  on  a 
sofa,  fast  asleep. 

Enter  Col.  ELLIOTT. 

Col  E.  My  daughter  is  not  here,  I  see.  There  lies 
Sir  Edward.  Shall  I  tell  him  the  secret?  No,  he'll 
certainly  blab  it.  But  he 's  asleep,  and  won't  hear  me ;  — 
so  I  '11  e'en  venture.  [Goes  up  to  Sir  EDWARD,  whispers 
him,  and  exit. 

END   OF    THE   FIRST   ACT. 
FINIS. 


Her  own  mature  opinion  of  the  desirableness  of 
such  an  early  habit  of  composition  is  given  in  the 
following  words  of  a  niece :  — 

"As  I  grew  older,  my  aunt  would  talk  to  me 
more  seriously  of  my  reading  and  my  amusements. 
I  had  taken  early  to  writing  verses  and  stories, 
and  I  am  sorry  to  think  how  I  troubled  her  with 
reading  them.  She  was  very  kind  about  it,  and 
always  had  some  praise  to  bestow;  but  at  last  she 
warned  me  against  spending  too  much  time  upon 
them.  She  said  —  how  well  I  recollect  it !  —  that 
she  knew  writing  stories  was  a  great  amusement, 
and  she  thought  a  harmless  one,  though  many  peo- 
ple, she  was  aware,  thought  otherwise;  but  that  at 
my  age  it  would  be  bad  for  me  to  be  much  taken 
up  with  my  own  compositions.  Later  still  —  it 
was  after  she  had  gone  to  Winchester  —  she  sent 
me  a  message  to  this  effect,  that  if  I  would  take 
her  advice,  I  should  cease  writing  till  I  was  six- 
teen; that  she  had  herself  often  wished  she  had 
read  more  and  written  less  in  the  corresponding 


218  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

years  of  her  own  life  "  As  this  niece  was  only 
twelve  years  old  at  the  time  of  her  aunt's  death, 
these  words  seem  to  imply  that  the  juvenile  tales 
to  which  I  have  referred  had,  some  of  them  at 
least,  been  written  in  her  childhood. 

But  between  these  childish  effusions  and  the 
composition  of  her  living  works  there  intervened 
another  stage  of  her  progress,  during  which  she 
produced  some  stories,  not  without  merit,  but 
which  she  never  considered  worthy  of  publication. 
During  this  preparatory  period  her  mind  seems  to 
have  been  working  in  a  very  different  direction 
from  that  into  which  it  ultimately  settled.  In- 
stead of  presenting  faithful  copies  of  nature,  these 
tales  were  generally  burlesques,  ridiculing  the  im- 
probable events  and  exaggerated  sentiments  which 
she  had  met  with  in  sundry  silly  romances.  Some- 
thing of  this  fancy  is  to  be  found  in  "Northanger 
Abbey ;"  but  she  soon  left  it  far  behind  in  her  sub- 
sequent course.  It  would  seem  as  if  she  were  first 
taking  note  of  all  the  faults  to  be  avoided,  and  curi- 
ously considering  how  she  ought  not  to  write  before 
she  attempted  to  put  forth  her  strength  in  the 
right  direction.  The  family  have,  rightly,  I  think, 
declined  to  let  these  early  works  be  published. 
Mr.  Shortreed  observed  very  pithily  of  Walter 
Scott's  early  rambles  on  the  borders,  "He  was 
makin'  himsell  a'  the  time;  but  he  didna  ken, 
may  be,  what  he  was  about  till  years  had  passed. 
At  first  he  thought  of  little,  I  dare  say,  but  the 
queerness  and  the  fun."  And  so,  in  a  humbler 
way.  Jane  Austen  was  "makin'  hersell, "  little 
thinking  of  future  fame,  but  caring  only  for  "the 


A   MEMOIR   OF   JANE  AUSTEN.  219 

queerness  and  the  fun;  "  and  it  would  be  as  unfair 
to  expose  this  preliminary  process  to  the  world  as 
it  would  be  to  display  all  that  goes  on  behind  the 
curtain  of  the  theatre  before  it  is  drawn  up. 

It  was,  however,  at  Steventon  that  the  real 
foundations  of  her  fame  were  laid.  There  some  of 
her  most  successful  writing  was  composed,  at  such 
an  early  age  as  to  make  it  surprising  that  so  young 
a  woman  could  have  acquired  the  insight  into 
character  and  the  nice  observation  of  manners 
which  they  display.  "  Pride  and  Prejudice, " 
which  some  consider  the  most  brilliant  of  her 
novels,  was  the  first  finished,  if  not  the  first  begun. 
She  began  it  in  October,  1796,  before  she  was 
twenty-one  years  old,  and  completed  it  in  about 
ten  months,  in  August,  1797.  The  title  then  in- 
tended for  it  was  " First  Impressions."  "  Sense 
and  Sensibility"  was  begun,  in  its  present  form, 
immediate!}-  after  the  completion  of  the  former,  in 
November,  1797;  but  something  similar  in  story 
and  character  had  been  written  earlier  under  the 
title  of  " Elinor  and  Marianne;7'  and  if,  as  is 
probable,  a  good  deal  of  this  earlier  production  was 
retained,  it  must  form  the  earliest  specimen  of  her 
writing  that  has  been  given  to  the  world.  "  Kor- 
thanger  Abbey,"  though  not  prepared  for  the  press 
till  1803,  was  certainly  first  composed  in  1798. 

Amongst  the  most  valuable  neighbors  of  the 
Austens  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lefroy  and  their 
family.  He  was  rector  of  the  adjoining  parish  of 
Ashe;  she  was  sister  to  Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  to 
whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  earliest  notice  of 
Jane  Austen  that  exists.  In  his  autobiography, 


220  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

speaking  of  his  visits  at  Ashe,  he  writes  thus; 
4 '  The  nearest  neighbors  of  the  Lef roys  were  the 
Austens  of  Steventon.  I  remember  Jane  Austen, 
the  novelist,  as  a  little  child.  She  was  very  inti- 
mate with  Mrs.  Lefroy,  and  much  encouraged  by 
her.  Her  mother  was  a  Miss  Leigh,  whose  pater- 
nal grandmother  was  sister  to  the  first  Duke  of 
Chandos.  Mr.  Austen  was  of  a  Kentish  family, 
of  which  several  branches  have  been  settled  in  the 
Weald  of  Kent,  and  some  are  still  remaining 
there.  When  I  knew  Jane  Austen,  I  never  sus- 
pected that  she  was  an  authoress;  but  my  eyes 
told  me  that  she  was  fair  and  handsome,  slight 
and  elegant,  but  with  cheeks  a  little  too  full.'* 
One  may  wish  that  Sir  Egerton  had  dwelt  rather 
longer  on  the  subject  of  these  memoirs,  instead  of 
being  drawn  away  by  his  extreme  love  for  genealo- 
gies to  her  great-grandmother  and  ancestors.  That 
great-grandmother,  however,  lives  in  the  family 
records  as  Mary  Brydges,  a  daughter  of  Lord 
Cbandos,  married  in  Westminster  Abbey  to  The- 
ophilus  Leigh  of  Addlestrop  in  1698.  When  a 
girl  she  had  received  a  curious  letter  of  advice  and 
reproof,  written  by  her  mother  from  Constanti- 
nople. Mary,  or  "Poll,"  was  remaining  in  Eng- 
land with  her  grandmother,  Lady  Bernard,  who 
seems  to  have  been  wealthy  and  inclined  to  be  too 
indulgent  to  her  granddaughter.  This  letter  is 
given.  Any  such  authentic  document,  two  hun- 
dred years  old,  dealing  with  domestic  details,  must 
possess  some  interest.  This  is  remarkable,  not 
only  as  a  specimen  of  the  homely  language  in 
which  ladies  of  rank  then  expressed  themselves, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN.  221 

but  from  the  sound  sense  which  it  contains. 
Forms  of  expression  vary;  but  good  sense  and 
right  principles  are  the  same  in  the  nineteenth 
that  they  were  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

My  DEARES  POLL,  —  Yr  letters  by  Cousin 
Bobbert  Serle  arrived  here  not  before  the  27th  of 
Aprill,  yett  were  they  hartily  wellcome  to  us, 
bringing  ye  joyful  news  which  a  great  while  we 
had  longed  for  of  my  most  dear  Mother  &  all  other 
relations  &  friends  good  health  which  I  beseech 
God  continue  to  you  all,  &  as  I  observe  in  yrs  to 
yr  Sister  Betty  ye  extraordinary  kindness  of  (as  I 
may  truly  say)  the  best  Moth1  &  Gnd  Mothr  in  the 
world  in  pinching  herself  to  make  you  fine,  so  I 
cannot  but  admire  her  great  good  Housewifry  in 
affording  you  so  very  plentifull  an  allowance,  & 
yett  to  increase  her  Stock  at  the  rate  I  find  she 
hath  done;  &  think  I  can  never  sufficiently  mind 
you  how  very  much  it  is  yr  duty  on  all  occasions 
to  pay  her  yr  gratitude  in  all  humble  submission 
&  obedience  to  all  her  commands  soe  long  as  you 
live.  I  must  tell  you  't  is  to  her  bounty  &  care  in 
ye  greatest  measure  you  are  like  to  owe  yr  well 
living  in  this  world,  &  as  you  cannot  be  very  sen- 
sible you  are  an  extraordinary  charge  to  her  so  it 
behoves  you  to  take  particular  heed  th*  in  y*  whole 
course  of  yr  life,  you  render  her  a  proportionable 
comfort,  especially  since  't  is  ye  best  way  you  can 
ever  hope  to  make  her  such  amends  as  God  requires 
of  y*  hands.  But  Poll!  it  grieves  me  a  little  & 
y*  I  am  forced  to  take  notice  of  &  reprove  you 
for  some  vai'ne  expressions  in  yr  lett"  to  yr  Sister 


222  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

—  you  say  concerning  yr  allowance  "you  aime  to 
bring  yr  bread  &  cheese  even  "  in  this  I  do  not 
discommend  you,  for  a  foule  shame  indeed  it 
would  be  should  you  out  run  the  Constable  having 
soe  liberall  a  provision  made  you  for  yr  mainte- 
nance —  but  y°  reason  you  give  for  yr  resolution  I 
cannot  at  all  approve  for  you  say  "to  spend  more 
you  can't "  thats  because  you  have  it  not  to  spend, 
otherwise  it  seems  you  would.  So  y*  't  is  yr  Grand- 
moth1"8  discretion  &  not  yours  th*  keeps  you  from 
extravagancy,  which  plainly  appears  in  ye  close  of 
yr  sentence,  saying  y*  you  think  it  simple  covet- 
ousness  to  save  out  of  yrs  but  Jt  is  my  opinion  if 
you  lay  all  on  yr  back  ?t  is  ten  tymes  a  greater  sin 
&  shame  thn  to  save  some  what  out  of  soe  large  an 
allowance  in  yr  purse  to  help  you  at  a  dead  lift. 
Child,  we  all  know  our  beginning,  but  who  knows 
his  end?  Ye  best  use  th*  can  be  made  of  fair 
weathr  is  to  provide  against  foule  &  't  is  great  dis- 
cretion &  of  noe  small  commendations  for  a  young 
woman  betymes  to  shew  herself  housewifly  &  frugal. 
Yr  Mother  neither  Maide  nor  wife  ever  yett  be- 
stowed forty  pounds  a  yeare  on  herself  &  yett  if 
you  never  fall  undr  a  worse  reputation  in  ye  world 
tliu  she  (I  thank  God  for  it)  hath  hitherto  done, 
you  need  not  repine  at  it,  &  you  cannot  be  igno- 
rant of  ye  difference  th*  was  between  my  fortune 
£  what  you  are  to  expect.  You  ought  likewise  to 
consider  th1  you  have  seven  brothers  £  sisters  & 
you  are  all  one  man's  children  &  therefore  it  is 
very  unreasonable  that  one  should  expect  to  be 
preferred  in  finery  soe  much  above  all  ye  rest  for 
His  impossible  you  should  soe  much  mistake 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  223 

yr  ffather's  condition  as  to  fancy  he  is  able  to 
allow  every  one  of  you  forty  pounds  a  yeare  a 
piece,  for  such  an  allowance  with  the  charge  of 
their  diett  over  and  above  will  amount  to  at  least 
five  hundred  pounds  a  yeare,  a  sum  yr  poor  ffather 
can  ill  spare,  besides  doe  but  bethink  yrself  what  a 
ridiculous  sight  it  will  be  when  yr  grandmoth1  & 
you  come  to  us  to  have  noe  less  thn  seven  waiting 
gentlewomen  in  one  house,  for  what  reason  can 
you  give  why  every  one  of  yr  Sistr8  should  not  have 
every  one  of  ym  a  Maide  as  well  as  you,  &  though 
you  may  spare  to  pay  yr  maide's  wages  out  of 
yr  allowance  yett  you  take  no  care  of  ye  unneces- 
sary charge  you  put  yr  ffathr  to  in  yr  increase  of 
his  family,  whereas  if  it  were  not  a  piece  of  pride 
to  have  ye  name  of  keeping  yr  maide  she  y*  waits 
on  yr  good  Grandmother  might  easily  doe  as  for- 
merly you  know  she  hath  done,  all  ye  business  you 
have  for  a  maide  unless  as  you  grow  oldr  you  grow 
a  veryer  Foole  which  God  forbid ! 

Poll,  you  live  in  a  place  where  you  see  great 
plenty  &  splendor,  but  let  not  ye  allurements  of 
earthly  pleasures  tempt  you  to  forget  or  neglect 
ye  duty  of  a  good  Christian  in  dressing  yr  bettr  part 
which  is  yr  soule,  as  will  best  please  God.  I  am 
not  against  yr  going  decent  &  neate  as  becomes 
yr  ffathers  daughter  but  to  clothe  yrself  rich  £  be 
running  into  every  gaudy  fashion  can  never  be- 
come yr  circumstances  &  instead  of  doing  you 
creditt  &  getting  you  a  good  prefernt  it  is  ye  readi- 
est way  you  can  take  to  fright  all  sober  men  from 
ever  thinking  of  matching  thm  selves  with  women 


224  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

that  live  above  thyr  fortune,  &  if  this  be  a  wise 
way  of  spending  money  judge  you !  &  besides,  doe 
but  reflect  what  an  od  sight  it  will  be  to  a  stranger 
that  conies  to  our  house  to  see  yr  Grandmothr 
yr  Mothr  &  all  yr  Sisters  in  a  plane  dress  &  you 
only  trickd  up  like  a  bartlemewbabby  —  you  know 
what  sort  of  people  those  are  th*  can't  faire  well 
but  they  must  cry  rost  meate  now  what  effect 
could  you  imagine  yr  writing  in  such  a  high 
straine  to  yr  Sisters  could  have  but  eithe'  to  pro- 
voke thm  to  envy  you  or  murmur  against  us.  I 
must  tell  you  neith'  of  yr  Sisters  have  ever  had 
twenty  pounds  a  yeare  allowance  from  us  yett,  & 
yett  they*  dress  hath  not  disparaged  neithr  thm  nor 
us  &  without  incurring  ye  censure  of  simple  covet- 
ousness  they  will  have  some  what  to  shew  out  of 
their  saving  that  will  doe  thm  creditt  &  I  expect 
y*  you  th*  are  theyr  elder  Sister  shd  rather  sett 
thm  examples  of  ye  like  nature  thn  tempt  th*1  from 
treading  in  ye  steps  of  their  good  Grandmoth*  & 
poor  Mothr .  This  is  not  half  what  might  be  saide 
on  this  occasion  but  believing  thee  to  be  a  very 
good  natured  dutyfull  child  I  shdi  have  thought  it 
a  great  deal  too  much  but  y1  having  in  my  coming 
hither  past  through  many  most  desperate  dangers 
I  cannot  forbear  thinking  &  preparing  myself  for 
all  events,  &  therefore  not  knowing  how  it  may 
please  God  to  dispose  of  us  I  conclude  it  my  duty 
to  God  &  thee  my  dr  child  to  lay  this  matter  as 
home  to  thee  as  I  could,  assuring  you  my  daily 
prayers  are  not  nor  shall  not  be  wanting  that  God 
may  give  you  grace  always  to  remember  to  make  a 
right  use  of  this  truly  affectionate  counsell  of 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  225 

yr  poor  Mothr.  &  though  I  speak  very  plaine  down- 
right english  to  you  yett  I  would  not  have  you 
doubt  but  that  I  love  you  as  hartily  as  any  child 
I  have  &  if  you  serve  God  and  take  good  courses  I 
promise  you  my  kindness  to  you  shall  be  accord- 
ing to  y*  own  hart's  desire,  for  you  may  be  certain 
I  can  aime  at  nothing  in  what  I  have  now  writ 
but  yr  real  good  which  to  promote  shall  be  ye  study 
&  care  day  &  night 

Of  my  dear  Poll 
thy  truly  affectionate  Mothr . 

ELIZA  CHANDOS. 
Pera  of  Galata,  May  ye  6th  1686. 

P.  S.  —  Thy  ffath'  &  I  send  thee  our  blessing, 
&  all  thy  broth™  &  sist"  they'  service.  Our  harty 
&  affectionate  service  to  my  broth1  &  sistr  Childe  & 
all  my  dear  cozens.  When  you  see  my  Lady 
Worster  &  cozen  Rowlands  pray  present  thm  my 
most  humble  service. 

This  letter  shows  that  the  wealth  acquired  by 
trade  was  already  manifesting  itself  in  contrast 
with  the  straitened  circumstances  of  some  of  the 
nobility.  Mary  Brydges's  "poor  ffather,"  in 
whose  household  economy  was  necessary,  was  the 
King  of  England's  ambassador  at  Constantinople; 
the  grandmother,  who  lived  in  "  great  plenty  and 
splendor,"  was  the  widow  of  a  Turkey  merchant. 
But  then,  as  now,  it  would  seem,  rank  had  the 
power  of  attracting  and  absorbing  wealth. 

At  Ashe  also  Jane  became   acquainted  with  a 
member  of  the  Lefroy  family,  who  was  still  living 
when  I  began  these  memoirs,  a  few  months  ago; 
15 


226  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

the  Eight  Hon.  Thomas  Lefroy,  late  Chief  Justice 
of  Ireland.  One  must  look  back  more  than  seventy 
years  to  reach  the  time  when  these  two  bright 
young  persons  were,  for  a  short  time,  intimately 
acquainted  with  each  other,  and  then  separated  on 
their  several  courses,  never  to  meet  again ;  both  des- 
tined to  attain  some  distinction  in  their  different 
ways,  —  one  to  survive  the  other  for  more  than  half 
a  century,  yet  in  his  extreme  old  age  to  remember 
and  speak,  as  he  sometimes  did,  of  his  former  com- 
panion as  one  to  be  much  admired,  and  not  easily 
forgotten  by  those  who  had  ever  known  her. 

Mrs.  Lefroy  herself  was  a  remarkable  person. 
Her  rare  endowments  of  goodness,  talents,  grace- 
ful person,  and  engaging  manners,  were  sufficient 
to  secure  her  a  prominent  place  in  any  society  into 
which  she  was  thrown;  while  her  enthusiastic 
eagerness  of  disposition  rendered  her  especially 
attractive  to  a  clever  and  lively  girl.  She  was 
killed  by  a  fall  from  her  horse  on  Jane's  birthday, 
Dec.  16,  1804.  The  following  lines  to  her  memory 
were  written  by  Jane  four  years  afterwards,  when 
she  was  thirty-three  years  old.  They  are  given, 
not  for  their  merits  as  poetry,  but  to  show  how 
deep  and  lasting  was  the  impression  made  by  the 
elder  friend  on  the  mind  of  the  younger :  — 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  LEFROY. 
1. 

The  day  returns  again,  my  natal  day  ; 

What  mix'd  emotions  in  mj  mind  arise ! 
Beloved  Friend ;  four  years  have  passed  away 

Since  thou  wert  snatched  for  ever  from  our  eyes. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  227 

2. 

The  day  commemorative  of  my  birth, 
Bestowing  life  and  light  and  hope  to  me, 

Brings  back  the  hour  which  was  thy  last  on  earth. 
Oh,  bitter  pang  of  torturing  memory ! 

3. 
Angelic  woman !  past  my  power  to  praise 

In  language  meet  thy  talents,  temper,  mind, 
Thy  solid  worth,  thy  captivating  grace, 

Thou  friend  and  ornament  of  human  kind. 

4. 
But  come,  fond  Fancy,  thou  indulgent  power ; 

Hope  is  desponding,  chill,  severe,  to  thee : 
Bless  thou  this  little  portion  of  an  hour ; 

Let  me  behold  her  as  she  used  to  be. 

5. 
I  see  her  here  with  all  her  smiles  benign, 

Her  looks  of  eager  love,  her  accents  sweet, 
That  voice  and  countenance  almost  divine, 

Expression,  harmony,  alike  complete. 

6. 
Listen !    It  is  not  sound  alone,  Jt  is  sense, 

'T  is  genius,  taste,  and  tenderness  of  soul : 
'T  is  genuine  warmth  of  heart  without  pretence, 

And  purity  of  mind  that  crowns  the  whole. 

7. 
She  speaks !    'T  is  eloquence,  that  grace  of  tongue, 

So  rare,  so  lovely,  never  misapplied 
By  her,  to  palliate  vice,  or  deck  a  wrong : 

She  speaks  and  argues  but  on  virtue's  side. 

8. 

Hers  is  the  energy  of  soul  sincere  : 
Her  Christian  spirit,  ignorant  to  feign, 


228  A  MEMOIR   OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

Seeks  but  to  comfort,  heal,  enlighten,  cheer, 
Confer  a  pleasure  or  prevent  a  pain. 

9. 
Can  aught  enhance  such  goodness  '*  yes,  to  me 

Her  partial  favor  from  my  earliest  years 
Consummates  all :  ah,  give  me  but  to  see 

Her  smile  of  love !    The  vision  disappears. 

10. 

Tis  past  and  gone.    We  meet  no  more  below. 

Short  is  the  cheat  of  Fancy  o'er  the  tomb. 
Oh,  might  I  hope  to  equal  bliss  to  go, 

To  meet  thee,  angel,  in  thy  future  home  ! 

11. 

Fain  would  I  feel  an  union  with  thy  fate  : 
Fain  would  I  seek  to  draw  an  omen  fair 

From  this  connection  in  our  earthly  date. 

Indulge  the  harmless  weakness.  Reason,  spare. 

The  loss  of  their  first  home  is  generally  a  great 
grief  to  young  persons  of  strong  feeling  and  lively 
imagination  j  and  Jane  was  exceedingly  unhappy 
when  she  was  told  that  her  father,  now  seventy 
years  of  age,  had  determined  to  resign  his  duties 
to  his  eldest  son,  who  was  to  be  his  successor  in 
the  rectory  of  Steventon,  and  to  remove  with  his 
wife  and  daughters  to  Bath.  Jane  had  been  absent 
from  home  when  this  resolution  was  taken;  and, 
as  her  father  was  always  rapid  both  in  forming  his 
resolutions  and  in  acting  on  them,  she  had  little 
time  to  reconcile  herself  to  the  change. 

A  wish  has  sometimes  been  expressed  that  some 
of  Jane  Austen's  letters  should  be  published. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  229 

Some  entire  letters,  and  many  extracts,  will  be 
given  in  this  Memoir;  but  the  reader  must  be 
warned  not  to  expect  too  much  from  them.  With 
regard  to  accuracy  of  language,  indeed  every  word 
of  them  might  be  printed  without  correction.  The 
style  is  always  clear,  and  generally  animated, 
while  a  vein  of  humor  continually  gleams  through 
the  whole;  but  the  materials  may  be  thought 
inferior  to  the  execution,  for  they  treat  only  of  the 
details  of  domestic  life.  There  is  in  them  no 
notice  of  politics  or  public  events;  scarcely  any 
discussions  on  literature,  or  other  subjects  of 
general  interest.  They  may  be  said  to  resemble 
the  nest  which  some  little  bird  builds  of  the 
materials  nearest  at  hand,  —  of  the  twigs  and  mosses 
supplied  by  the  tree  in  which  it  is  placed,  curi- 
ously constructed  out  of  the  simplest  matters. 

Her  letters  have  very  seldom  the  date  of  the 
year,  or  the  signature  of  her  Christian  name  at  full 
length ;  but  it  has  been  easy  to  ascertain  their  dates, 
either  from  the  post-mark  or  from  their  contents. 

The  two  following  letters  are  the  earliest  that  I 
have  seen.  They  were  both  written  in  November, 
1800,  before  the  family  removed  from  Steventon. 
Some  of  the  same  circumstances  are  referred  to  in 
both. 

The  first  is  to  her  sister  Cassandra,  who  was 
then  staying  with  their  brother  Edward  at  Godmer- 
sham  Park,  Kent :  — 

STEVENTON,  Saturday  evening,  Nov.  8th. 
MY    DEAR   CASSANDRA,  —  I  thank    you  for  so 
speedy  a  return  to  my  two  last,  and  particularly 


230  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

thank  you  for  your  anecdote  of  Charlotte  Graham 
and  her  cousin,  Harriet  Bailey,  which  has  very 
much  amused  both  my  mother  and  myself.  If  you 
can  learn  anything  farther  of  that  interesting 
affair,  I  hope  you  will  mention  it.  I  have  two 
messages;  let  me  get  rid  of  them,  and  then  my 
paper  will  be  my  own.  Mary  fully  intended 
writing  to  you  by  Mr.  Chute's  frank,  and  only 
happened  entirely  to  forget  it,  but  will  write  soon ; 
and  my  father  wishes  Edward  to  send  him  a 
memorandum  of  the  price  of  the  hops.  The  tables 
are  come,  and  give  general  contentment.  I  had 
not  expected  that  they  would  so  perfectly  suit  the 
fancy  of  us  all  three,  or  that  we  should  so  well 
agree  in  the  disposition  of  them;  but  nothing 
except  their  own  surface  can  have  been  smoother. 
The  two  ends  put  together  form  one  constant  table 
for  everything,  and  the  centrepiece  stands  exceed- 
ingly well  under  the  glass,  and  holds  a  great  deal 
most  commodiously,  without  looking  awkwardly. 
They  are  both  covered  with  green  baize,  and  send 
their  best  love.  The  Pembroke  has  got  its  desti- 
nation by  the  sideboard,  and  my  mother  has  great 
delight  in  keeping  her  money  and  papers  locked 
up.  The  little  table  which  used  to  stand  there  has 
most  conveniently  taken  itself  off  into  the  best  bed- 
room ;  and  we  are  now  in  want  only  of  the  chiffon- 
niere,  is  neither  finished  nor  come.  So  much  for 
that  subject;  I  now  come  to  another,  of  a  very 
different  nature,  as  other  subjects  are  very  apt  to 
be.  Earle  Harwood  has  been  again  giving  uneasi- 
ness to  his  family  and  talk  to  the  neighborhood :  in 
the  present  instance,  however,  he  is  only  unfortu- 
nate, and  not  in  fault. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  231 

About  ten  days  ago,  in  cocking  a  pistol  in  the 
guard-room  at  Marcau,  he  accidentally  shot  him- 
self through  the  thigh.  Two  young  Scotch  sur- 
geons in  the  island  were  polite  enough  to  propose 
taking  off  the  thigh  at  once,  but  to  that  he  would 
not  consent ;  and  accordingly  in  his  wounded  state 
was  put  on  board  a  cutter  and  conveyed  to  Haslar 
Hospital,  at  Gosport,  where  the  bullet  was  ex- 
tracted, and  where  he  now  is,  I  hope,  in  a  fair  way  of 
doing  well.  The  surgeon  of  the  hospital  wrote  to 
the  family  on  the  occasion,  and  John  Harwood 
went  down  to  him  immediately,  attended  by  James,1 
whose  object  in  going  was  to  be  the  means  of 
bringing  back  the  earliest  intelligence  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Harwood,  whose  anxious  sufferings,  particu- 
larly those  of  the  latter,  have  of  course  been  dread- 
ful. They  went  down  on  Tuesday,  and  James 
came  back  the  next  day,  bringing  such  favorable 
accounts  as  greatly  to  lessen  the  distress  of  the 
family  at  Deane,  though  it  will  probably  be  a  long 
while  before  Mrs.  Harwood  can  be  quite  at  ease. 
One  most  material  comfort,  however,  they  have,  — 
the  assurance  of  its  being  really  an  accidental 
wound,  which  is  not  only  positively  declared  by 
Earle  himself,  but  is  likewise  testified  by  the 
particular  direction  of  the  bullet.  Such  a  wound 
could  not  have  been  received  in  a  duel.  At  present 
he  is  going  on  very  well,  but  the  surgeon  will  not 
declare  him  to  be  in  no  danger.2  Mr.  Heathcote 
met  with  a  genteel  little  accident  the  other  day  in 
hunting.  He  got  off  to  lead  his  horse  over  a 

1  James,  the  writer's  eldest  brother. 

2  The  limb  was  saved. 


232  A  MEMOIR   OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

hedge,  or  a  house,  or  something,  and  his  horse  in 
his  haste  trod  upon  his  leg,  or  rather  ankle,  I 
believe,  and  it  is  not  certain  whether  the  small 
bone  is  not  broke.  Martha  has  accepted  Mary's 
invitation  for  Lord  Portsmouth's  ball.  He  has 
not  yet  sent  out  his  own  invitations,  but  that  does 
not  signify;  Martha  comes,  and  a  ball  there  is  to 
be.  I  think  it  will  be  too  early  in  her  mother's 
absence  for  me  to  return  with  her. 

Sunday  Evening.  —  We  have  had  a  dread- 
ful storm  of  wind  in  the  fore  part  of  this  day, 
which  has  done  a  great  deal  of  mischief  among  our 
trees.  I  was  sitting  alone  in  the  dining-room 
when  an  odd  kind  of  crash  startled  me;  in  a 
moment  afterwards  it  was  repeated.  I  then  went 
to  the  window,  which  I  reached  just  in  time  to  see 
the  last  of  our  two  highly  valued  elms  descend  into 
the  Sweep  !  !  !  !  !  The  other,  which  had  fallen,  I 
suppose,  in  the  first  crash  and  which  was  the  nearest 
to  the  pond,  taking  a  more  easterly  direction,  sunk 
among  our  screen  of  chestnuts  and  firs,  knocking 
down  one  spruce-fir,  beating  off  the  head  of 
another,  and  stripping  the  two  corner  chestnuts 
of  several  branches  in  its  fall.  This  is  not  all. 
One  large  elm,  out  of  the  two  on  the  left-hand  aide 
as  you  enter  what  I  call  the  elm-walk,  was  likewise 
blown  down;  the  maple  bearing  the  weathercock 
was  broke  in  two;  and  what  I  regret  more  than  all 
the  rest  is,  that  all  the  three  elms  which  grew  in 
Hall's  meadow,  and  gave  such  ornament  to  it,  are 
gone;  two  were  blown  down,  and  the  other  so 
much  injured  that  it  cannot  stand.  I  am  happy 
to  add,  however,  that  no  greater  evil  than  the 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  233 

loss  of  trees  has  been  the  consequence  of  the 
storm  in  this  place,  or  in  our  immediate  neighbor- 
hood. We  grieve,  therefore,  in  some  comfort. 

I  am  yours  ever,  J.  A. 

The  next  letter,  written  four  days  later  than  the 
former,  was  addressed  to  Miss  Lloyd,  an  intimate 
friend,  whose  sister  (my  mother)  was  married  to 
Jane's  eldest  brother:  — 

STEVENTON,  Wednesday  evening,  Nov.  12th. 
MY  DEAR  MARTHA,  —  I  did  not  receive  your 
note  yesterday  till  after  Charlotte  had  left  Deane, 
or  I  would  have  sent  my  answer  by  her,  instead  of 
being  the  means,  as  I  now  must  be,  of  lessening 
the  elegance  of  your  new  dress  for  the  Hurstbourne 
ball  by  the  value  of  3d.  You  are  very  good  in 
wishing  to  see  me  at  Ibthorp  so  soon,  and  I  am 
equally  good  in  wishing  to  come  to  you.  I  believe 
our  merit  in  that  respect  is  much  upon  a  par,  our 
self-denial  mutually  strong.  Having  paid  this 
tribute  of  praise  to  the  virtue  of  both,  I  shall  here 
have  done  with  panegyric,  and  proceed  to  plain  mat- 
ter of  fact.  In  about  a  fortnight's  time  I  hope  to  be 
with  you.  I  have  two  reasons  for  not  being  able 
to  come  before.  I  wish  so  to  arrange  my  visit  as 
to  spend  some  days  with  you  after  your  mother's 
return.  In  the  1st  place,  that  I  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her,  and  in  the  2nd,  that  I  may 
have  a  better  chance  of  bringing  you  back  with  me. 
Your  promise  in  my  favor  was  not  quite  absolute ; 
but  if  your  will  is  not  perverse,  you  and  I  will  do 
all  in  our  power  to  overcome  your  scruples  of  con- 


234  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

science.  I  hope  we  shall  meet  next  week  to  talk 
all  this  over,  till  we  have  tired  ourselves  with  the 
very  idea  of  my  visit  hefore  my  visit  begins.  Our 
invitations  for  the  19th  are  arrived,  and  very  curi- 
ously are  they  worded.1  Mary  mentioned  to  you  yes- 
terday poor  Earle's  unfortunate  accident,  I  dare  say. 
He  does  not  seem  to  be  going  on  very  well.  The 
two  or  three  last  posts  have  brought  less  and  less 
favorable  accounts  of  him.  John  Harwood  has 
gone  to  Gosport  again  to-day.  We  have  two  fami- 
lies of  friends  now  who  are  in  a  most  anxious  state ; 
for  though  by  a  note  from  Catherine  this  morning 
there  seems  now  to  be  a  revival  of  hope  at  Many- 
down,  its  continuance  may  be  too  reasonably 
doubted.  Mr.  Heathcote,2  however,  who  has 
broken  the  small  bone  of  his  leg,  is  so  good  as  to 
be  going  on  very  well.  It  would  be  really  too 
much  to  have  three  people  to  care  for. 

You  distress  me  cruelly  by  your  request  about 
books.  I  cannot  think  of  any  to  bring  with  me, 
nor  have  I  any  idea  of  our  wanting  them.  I  come 
to  you  to  be  talked  to,  not  to  read  or  hear  reading; 
I  can  do  that  at  home ;  and  indeed  I  am  now  lay- 
ing in  a  stock  of  intelligence  to  pour  out  on  you  as 

1  The  invitation,  the  ball  dress,  and  some  other  things  in 
this  and  the  preceding  letter  refer  to  a  ball  annually  given  at 
Hurstbourne  Park,  on  the  anniversary  of  the  Earl  of  Ports- 
mouth's marriage  with  his  first  wife.  He  was  the  Lord  Ports- 
mouth whose  eccentricities  afterwards  became  notorious  ;  and 
the  invitations,  as  well  as  other  arrangements  about  these 
balls,  were  of  a  peculiar  character. 

*  The  father  of  Sir  William  Heathcote,  of  Hursley,  who 
was  married  to  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Bigg  Wither,  of  Manydowii. 
and  lived  in  the  neighborhood. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  235 

my  share  of  the  conversation.  I  am  reading 
Henry's  History  of  England,  which  I  will  repeat  to 
you  in  any  manner  you  may  prefer, — either  in  a  loose, 
desultory,  unconnected  stream,  or  dividing  my  re- 
cital, as  the  historian  divides  it  himself,  into  seven 
parts:  The  Civil  and  Military;  Religion;  Con- 
stitution ;  Learning  and  Learned  Men ;  Arts  and 
Sciences;  Commerce,  Coins,  and  Shipping;  and 
Manners.  So  that  for  every  evening  in  the  week 
there  will  be  a  different  suhject.  The  Friday's  lot 
—  Commerce,  Coins,  and  Shipping  —  you  will  find 
the  least  entertaining;  but  the  next  evening's  por- 
tion will  make  amends.  With  such  a  provision  on 
my  part,  if  you  will  do  yours  by  repeating  the 
French  Grammar,  and  Mrs.  Stent l  will  now  and 
then  ejaculate  some  wonder  about  the  cocks  and 
hens,  what  can  we  want?  Farewell  for  a  short 
time.  We  all  unite  in  best  love,  and  I  am  your 
very  affectionate 

J.  A. 

The  two  next  letters  must  have  been  written 
early  in  1801,  after  the  removal  from  Steventon  had 
been  decided  on,  but  before  it  had  taken  place. 
They  refer  to  the  two  brothers  who  were  at  sea, 
and  give  some  idea  of  a  kind  of  anxieties  and  un- 
certainties to  which  sisters  are  seldom  subject  in 
these  days  of  peace,  steamers,  and  electric  tele- 
graphs. At  that  time  ships  were  often  windbound 
or  becalmed,  or  driven  wide  of  their  destination; 
and  sometimes  they  had  orders  to  alter  their  course 
for  some  secret  service;  not  to  mention  the  chance 
of  conflict  with  a  vessel  of  superior  power,  —  no  im- 

1  A  very  dull  old  lady,  then  residing  with  Mrs.  Lloyd. 


236  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

probable  occurrence  before  the  battle  of  Trafalgar. 
Information  about  relatives  on  board  men-of-war 
was  scarce  and  scanty,  and  often  picked  up  by  hear- 
say or  chance  means;  and  every  scrap  of  intelli- 
gence was  proportionably  valuable: — - 

MY  DEAR  CASSANDRA,  —  I  should  not  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  write  to  you  so  soon,  but  for 
the  arrival  of  a  letter  from  Charles  to  myself.  It 
was  written  last  Saturday  from  off  the  "  Start,"  and 
conveyed  to  Popham  Lane  by  Captain  Boyle  on  his 
way  to  Midgham.  He  came  from  Lisbon  in  the 
"Endymion."  I  will  copy  Charles's  account  of 
his  conjectures  about  Frank:  "He  has  not  seen 
my  brother  lately,  nor  does  he  expect  to  find  him 
arrived,  as  he  met  Captain  Inglis  at  Rhodes,  going 
up  to  take  command  of  the  '  Petrel, '  as  he  was  com- 
ing down;  but  supposes  he  will  arrive  in  less  than 
a  fortnight  from  this  time,  in  some  ship  which  is 
expected  to  reach  England  about  that  time  with 
despatches  from  Sir  Ralph  Abercrombie. "  The 
event  must  show  what  sort  of  a  conjuror  Captain 
Boyle  is.  The  "  Endymion  "  has  not  been  plagued 
with  any  more  prizes.  Charles  spent  three  pleasant 
days  in  Lisbon. 

They  were  very  well  satisfied  with  their  royal 
passenger,1  whom  they  found  jolly  and  affable, 
who  talks  of  Lady  Augusta  as  his  wife,  and  seems 
much  attached  to  her. 

When  this  letter  was  written,  the  "Endy- 
mion "  was  becalmed,  but  Charles  hoped  to  reach 

1  The  Duke  of  Sussex,  son  of  George  III.,  married,  with- 
out royal  consent,  to  the  Lady  Augusta  Murray. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  237 

Portsmouth  by  Monday  or  Tuesday.  He  received 
my  letter,  communicating  our  plans,  before  he 
left  England;  was  much  surprised,  of  course,  but 
is  quite  reconciled  to  them,  and  means  to  come  to 
Steventon  once  more  while  Steventon  is  ours. 

From  a  letter  written  later  in  the  same  year :  — 

' l  Charles  has  received  301.  for  his  share  of  the 
privateer,  and  expects  10Z.  more;  but  of  what 
avail  is  it  to  take  prizes  if  he  lays  out  the  produce 
in  presents  to  his  sisters?  He  has  been  buying 
gold  chains  and  topaz  crosses  for  us.  He  must  be 
well  scolded.  The  '  Endymion  '  has  already  re- 
ceived orders  for  taking  troops  to  Egypt,  which  I 
should  not  like  at  all  if  I  did  not  trust  to  Charles 
being  removed  from  her  somehow  or  other  before 
she  sails.  He  knows  nothing  of  his  own  destina- 
tion, he  says,  but  desires  me  to  write  directly,  as 
the  •'  Endymion '  will  probably  sail  in  three  or 
four  days.  He  will  receive  my  yesterday's  letter, 
and  I  shall  write  again  by  this  post  to  thank  and 
reproach  him.  We  shall  be  unbearably  fine. " 


238  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

REMOVAL  FROM  STEVENTON  —  RESIDENCES  AT  BATH  AND 
AT  SOUTHAMPTON  —  SETTLING  AT  CHAWTON. 

THE  family  removed  to  Bath  in  the  spring  of 
1801,  where  they  resided,  — first  at  No.  4  Sydney 
Terrace,  and  afterwards  in  Green  Park  Buildings. 
I  do  not  know  whether  they  were  at  all  attracted 
to  Bath  by  the  circumstance  that  Mrs.  Austen's 
only  brother,  Mr.  Leigh  Perrot,  spent  part  of 
every  year  there.  The  name  of  Perrot,  together 
with  a  small  estate  at  Northleigh  in  Oxfordshire, 
had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  a  great-uncle.  I 
must  devote  a  few  sentences  to  this  very  old  and 
now  extinct  branch  of  the  Perrot  family ;  for  one 
of  the  last  survivors,  Jane  Perrot,  married  to  a 
Walker,  was  Jane  Austen's  great-grandmother,  from 
whom  she  derived  her  Christian  name.  The  Per- 
rots  were  settled  in  Pembrokeshire,  at  least  as  early 
as  the  thirteenth  century.  They  were  probably 
some  of  the  settlers  whom  the  policy  of  our  Planta- 
genet  kings  placed  in  that  county,  which  thence 
acquired  the  name  of  "England  beyond  Wales," 
for  the  double  purpose  of  keeping  open  a  communi- 
cation with  Ireland  from  Milford  Haven,  and  of 
overawing  the  Welsh.  One  of  the  family  seems 
to  have  carried  out  this  latter  purpose  very  vigor- 
ously; for  it  is  recorded  of  him  that  he  slew 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  239 

twenty-six  men  of  Kemaes,  a  district  of  Wales, 
and  one  wolf.  The  manner  in  which  the  two 
kinds  of  game  are  classed  together,  and  the  dis- 
proportion of  numbers,  are  remarkable;  but  proba- 
bly at  that  time  the  wolves  had  been  so  closely 
killed  down,  that  lupicide  was  become  a  more  rare 
and  distinguished  exploit  than  homicide.  The 
last  of  this  family  died  about  1778,  and  their 
property  was  divided  between  Leighs  and  Mus- 
graves,  the  larger  portion  going  to  the  latter. 
Mr.  Leigh  Perrot  pulled  down  the  mansion,  and 
sold  the  estate  to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough ;  and 
the  name  of  these  Perrots  is  now  to  be  found  only 
on  some  monuments  in  the  church  of  Northleigh. 

Mr.  Leigh  Perrot  was  also  one  of  several  cousins 
to  whom  a  life  interest  in  the  Stoneleigh  property 
in  Warwickshire  was  left,  after  the  extinction  of 
the  earlier  Leigh  peerage ;  but  he  compromised  his 
claim  to  the  succession  in  his  lifetime.  He  mar- 
ried a  niece  of  Sir  Montague  Cholmeley  of  Lin- 
colnshire. He  was  a  man  of  considerable  natural 
power,  with  much  of  the  wit  of  his  uncle,  the  Mas- 
ter of  Balliol,  and  wrote  clever  epigrams  and  rid- 
dles, some  of  which,  though  without  his  name, 
found  their  way  into  print  j  but  he  lived  a  very 
retired  life,  dividing  his  time  between  Bath  and 
his  place  in  Berkshire  called  Scarlets.  Jane's 
letters  from  Bath  make  frequent  mention  of  this 
uncle  and  aunt. 

The  unfinished  story  now  published  under  the 
title  of  "The  Watsons "  must  have  been  written 
during  the  author's  residence  in  Bath.  In  the 
autumn  of  1804  she  spent  some  weeks  at  Lyme, 


240  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

and  became  acquainted  with  the  Cobb,  which  she 
afterwards  made  memorable  for  the  fall  of  Louisa 
Musgrove.  In  February,  1805,  her  father  died  at 
Bath,  and  was  buried  at  Walcot  Church.  The 
widow  and  daughters  went  into  lodgings  for  a  few 
months,  and  then  removed  to  Southampton.  The 
only  records  that  I  can  find  about  her  during  those 
four  years  are  the  three  following  letters  to  her 
sister,  —  one  from  Lyme,  the  others  from  Bath. 
They  show  that  she  went  a  good  deal  into  society, 
in  a  quiet  way,  chiefly  with  ladies;  and  that  her 
eyes  were  always  open  to  minute  traits  of  character 
in  those  with  whom  she  associated :  — 

Extract  from  a  Letter  from  Jane  Austen  to  her  Sister. 

LYME,  Friday,  Sept  14  (1804). 
MY  DEAR  CASSANDRA,  —  I  take  the  first 
sheet  of  fine  striped  paper  to  thank  you  for  your 
letter  from  Weymouth,  and  express  my  hopes  of 
your  being  at  Ibthorp  before  this  time.  I  expect 
to  hear  that  you  reached  it  yesterday  evening, 
being  able  to  get  as  far  as  Blandford  on  Wednes- 
day. Your  account  of  Weymouth  contains  nothing 
which  strikes  me  so  forcibly  as  there  being  no  ice 
in  the  town.  For  every  other  vexation  I  was  in 
some  measure  prepared,  and  particularly  for  your 
disappointment  in  not  seeing  the  Royal  Family  go 
on  board  on  Tuesday,  having  already  heard  from 
Mr.  Crawford  that  he  had  seen  you  in  the  very 
act  of  being  too  late.  But  for  there  being  no  ice, 
what  could  prepare  me?  You  found  my  letter  at 
Andover,  I  hope,  yesterday,  and  have  now  for 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  241 

many  hours  been  satisfied  that  your  kind  anxiety 
on  my  behalf  was  as  much  thrown  away  as  kind 
anxiety   usually    is.      I   continue   quite   well;    in 
proof  of  which  I  have  bathed  again  this  morning. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  have  the 
little  fever  and  indisposition  which  I  had;  it  has 
been  all  the  fashion  this  week  in  Lyme.     We  are 
quite  settled  in  our  lodgings  by  this  time,  as  you 
may  suppose,  and  everything  goes  on  in  the  usual 
order.     The  servants  behave  very  well,  and  make 
no  difficulties,  though  nothing  certainly  can  exceed 
the  inconvenience  of  the  offices,  except  the  general 
dirtiness  of  the  house  and  furniture  and  all  its  in- 
habitants.    I  endeavor,  as  far  as  I  can,  to  supply 
your  place,  and  be  useful,  and  keep  things  in  order. 
I   detect  dirt  in  the  water  decanters  as  fast  as  I 
can,  and  keep  everything  as  it  was  under  your  ad- 
ministration.  .   .   .    The  ball  last  night  was  pleas- 
ant, but  not  full  for  Thursday.     My  father  stayed 
contentedly  till   half-past   nine  (we   went  a  little 
after  eight),  and   then  walked   home  with  James 
and  a  lantern,   though  I  believe  the    lantern  was 
not  lit,  as  the  moon  was  up;    but  sometimes  this 
lantern  may  be  a  great  convenience  to  him.     My 
mother  and  I  stayed  about  an  hour  later.     Nobody 
asked   me   the  two  first    dances;  the    two  next    I 
danced  with  Mr.   Crawford,   and   had  I  chosen  to 
stay  longer  might   have   danced   with  Mr.   Gran- 
ville,   Mrs.  Granville's  son,  whom  my  dear  friend 
Miss  A.  introduced  to  me,  or  with  a  new  odd-look- 
ing man  who  had  been  eying  me  for  some  time, 
and  at  last,  without  any  introduction,  asked  me  if 
I  meant  to  dance  again.     I  think  he  must  be  Irish 
16 


242  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

by  his  ease,  and  because  I  imagine  him  to  belong 
to  the  honbl  B.'s,  who  are  son  and  son's  wife  of  an 
Irish  viscount,  bold,  queer-looking  people,  just  fit 
to  be  quality  at  Lyme.  I  called  yesterday  morn- 
ing (ought  it  not  in  strict  propriety  to  be  termed 
jester-morning?)  on  Miss  A.,  and  was  introduced 
to  her  father  and  mother.  Like  other  young  ladies, 
she  is  considerably  genteeler  than  her  parents. 
Mrs.  A.  sat  darning  a  pair  of  stockings  the  whole 
of  my  visit.  But  do  not  mention  this  at  home, 
lest  a  warning  should  act  as  an  example.  We 
afterwards  walked  together  for  an  hour  on  the 
Cobb;  she  is  very  conversable  in  a  common  way; 
I  do  not  perceive  wit  or  genius,  but  she  has  sense 
and  some  degree  of  taste,  and  her  manners  are 
very  engaging.  She  seems  to  like  people  rather 
too  easily. 

Yours  affect1?, 

J.  A. 

Letter  from  Jane  Austen  to  her  sister  Cassandra 
at  Tbthorp,  alluding  to  the  sudden  death  of  Mrs. 
Lloyd  at  that  place:  — 

25  GAY  STREET  (BATH),  Monday, 
April  8,  1805, 

MY  DEAR  CASSANDRA,  —  Here  is  a  day  for 
you.  Did  Bath  or  Ibthorp  ever  see  such  an  8th 
of  April?  It  is  March  and  April  together, — the 
glare  of  the  one  and  the  warmth  of  the  other.  We 
do  nothing  but  walk  about.  As  far  as  your  means 
will  admit,  I  hope  you  profit  by  such  weather  too. 
I  dare  say  you  are  already  the  better  for  change  of 
place.  We  were  out  again  last  night.  Miss  Irvine 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  243 

invited  us,  when  I  met  her  in  the  Crescent,  to 
drink  tea  with  them,  but  I  rather  declined  it,  hav- 
ing no  idea  that  my  mother  would  he  disposed  for 
another  evening  visit  there  so  soon;  but  when  I 
gave  her  the  message,  I  found  her  very  well  in- 
clined to  go;  and  accordingly,  on  leaving  chapel, 
^ye  walked  to  Lansdown.  This  morning  we  have 
been  to  see  Miss  Chamberlaine  look  hot  on  horse- 
back. Seven  years  and  four  months  ago  we  went 
to  the  same  riding-house  to  see  Miss  Lefroy's  per- 
formance ! 1  What  a  different  set  are  we  now  mov- 
ing in !  But  seven  years,  I  suppose,  are  enough  to 
change  every  pore  of  one's  skin  and  every  feeling 
of  one's  mind.  We  did  not  walk  long  in  the 
Crescent  yesterday.  It  was  hot  and  not  crowded 
enough;  so  we  went  into  the  field,  and  passed  close 
by  S.  T.  and  Miss  S.2  again.  I  have  not  yet  seen 
her  face,  but  neither  her  dress  nor  air  have  any- 
thing of  the  dash  or  stylishness  which  the  Browns 
talked  of,  —  quite  the  contrary ;  indeed,  her  dress 
is  not  even  smart,  and  her  appearance  very  quiet. 
Miss  Irvine  says  she  is  never  speaking  a  word. 
Poor  wretch!  I  am  afraid  she  is  en  penitence. 
Here  has  been  that  excellent  Mrs.  Coulthart  call- 
ing while  my  mother  was  out  and  I  was  believed 
to  be  so.  I  always  respected  her  as  a  good-hearted, 
friendly  woman.  And  the  Browns  have  been  here ; 
I  find  their  affidavits  on  the  table.  The  "  Ambus- 
cade "  reached  Gibraltar  on  the  9th  of  March,  and 
found  all  well;  so  say  the  papers.  We  have  had 

1  Here  is  evidence  that  Jane  Austen  was  acquainted  with 
Bath  before  it  became  her  residence  in  1801.     See  p.  195. 

2  A  gentleman  and  lady  lately  engaged  to  be  married. 


244  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

no  letters  from  anybody,  but  we  expect  to  hear 
from  Edward  to-morrow,  and  from  you  soon  after- 
wards. How  happy  they  are  at  Godmersham  now ! 
I  shall  be  very  glad  of  a  letter  from  Ibthorp,  that 
I  may  know  how  you  all  are,  but  particularly  your- 
self. This  is  nice  weather  for  Mrs.  J.  Austen's 
going  to  Speen,  and  I  hope  she  will  have  a  pleasant 
visit  there.  I  expect  a  prodigious  account  of  the 
christening  dinner;  perhaps  it  brought  you  at  last 
into  the  company  of  Miss  Dundas  again. 

Tuesday.  —  I  received  your  letter  last  night, 
and  wish  it  may  be  soon  followed  by  another  to 
say  that  all  is  over;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  nature  will  struggle  again,  and  produce  a  re- 
vival. Poor  woman!  May  her  end  be  peaceful 
and  easy  as  the  exit  we  have  witnessed  I  And  I 
dare  say  it  will.  If  there  is  no  revival,  suffering 
must  be  all  over;  even  the  consciousness  of  exist- 
ence, I  suppose,  was  gone  when  you  wrote.  The 
nonsense  I  have  been  writing  in  this  and  in  my  last 
letter  seems  out  of  place  at  such  a  time,  but  I  will 
not  mind  it;  it  will  do  you  no  harm,  and  nobody 
else  will  be  attacked  by  it.  1  am  heartily  glad 
that  you  can  speak  so  comfortably  of  your  own 
health  and  looks,  though  I  can  scarcely  compre- 
hend the  latter  being  really  approved.  Could 
travelling  fifty  miles  produce  such  an  immediate 
change?  You  were  looking  very  poorly  here,  and 
everybody  seemed  sensible  of  it.  Is  there  a  charm 
in  a  hack  post-chaise?  But  if  there  were,  Mrs. 
Craven's  carriage  might  have  undone  it  all.  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you  for  the  time  and  trouble  you 
have  bestowed  on  Mary's  cap,  and  am  glad  it 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  245 

pleases  her;  but  it  will  prove  a  useless  gift  at  pres- 
ent, I  suppose.  Will  not  she  leave  Ibthorp  on  her 
mother's  death?  As  a  companion  you  are  all  that 
Martha  can  be  supposed  to  want;  and  in  that  light, 
under  these  circumstances,  your  visit  will  indeed 
have  been  well  timed. 

,  Thursday.  —  I  was  not  able  to  go  on  yesterday ; 
all  my  wit  and  leisure  were  bestowed  on  letters  to 
Charles  and  Henry.  To  the  former  I  wrote  in  con- 
sequence of  my  mother's  having  seen  in  the  papers 
that  the  "  Urania"  was  waiting  at  Portsmouth  for 
the  convoy  for  Halifax.  This  is  nice,  as  it  is  only 
three  weeks  ago  that  you  wrote  by  the  "  Camilla." 
I  wrote  to  Henry  because  I  had  a  letter  from  him 
in  which  he  desired  to  hear  from  me  very  soon. 
His  to  me  was  most  affectionate  and  kind,  as  well 
as  entertaining;  there  is  no  merit  to  him  in  that;  he 
cannot  help  being  amusing.  He  offers  to  meet  us 
on  the  sea-coast,  if  the  plan  of  which  Edward  gave 
him  some  hint  takes  place.  Will  not  this  be  mak- 
ing the  execution  of  such  a  plan  more  desirable,  and 
delightful  than  ever?  He  talks  of  the  rambles  we 
took  together  last  summer  with  pleasing  affection. 
Yours  ever, 

J.  A. 

From  the  Same  to  the  Same. 

GAY  ST.,  Sunday  Evening, 
April  21  (1805). 

MY  DEAR  CASSANDRA,  —  I  am  much  obliged  to 
you  for  writing  to  me  again  so  soon;  your  letter 
yesterday  was  quite  an  unexpected  pleasure.  Poor 
Mrs.  Stent!  it  has  been  her  lot  to  be  always  in  the 


246  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

way;  but  we  must  be  merciful,  for  perhaps  in  time 
we  may  come  to  be  Mrs.  Stents  ourselves,  unequal 
to  anything,  and  unwelcome  to  everybody.  .  .  . 
My  morning  engagement  was  with  the  Cookes,  and 
our  party  consisted  of  George  and  Mary,  a  Mr.  L., 
Miss  B.,  who  had  been  with  us  at  the  concert,  and 
the  youngest  Miss  W.  Not  Julia,  —  we  have  done 
with  her;  she  is  very  ill,  — but  Mary.  Mary  W.  7s 
turn  is  actually  come  to  be  grown  up,  and  have  a 
fine  complexion,  and  wear  great  square  muslin 
shawls.  I  have  not  expressly  enumerated  myself 
among  the  party;  but  there  I  was,  and  my  cousin 
George  was  very  kind,  and  talked  sense  to  me 
every  now  and  then,  in  the  intervals  of  his  more 
animated  fooleries  with  Miss  B.,  who  is  very  young 
and  rather  handsome,  and  whose  gracious  manners, 
ready  wit,  and  solid  remarks  put  me  somewhat  in 
mind  of  my  old  acquaintance  L.  L.  There  was  a 
monstrous  deal  of  stupid  quizzing  and  common- 
place nonsense  talked,  but  scarcely  any  wit;  all 
that  bordered  on  it  or  on  sense  came  from  my 
cousin  George,  whom  altogether  I  like  very  well. 
Mr.  B.  seems  nothing  more  than  a  tall  young  man. 
My  evening  engagement  and  walk  was  with  Miss 
A.,  who  had  called  on  me  the  day  before,  and 
gently  upbraided  me  in  her  turn  with  a  change  of 
manners  to  her  since  she  had  been  in  Bath,  or  at 
least  of  late.  Unlucky  me !  that  my  notice  should 
be  of  such  consequence,  and  my  manners  so  bad! 
She  was  so  well  disposed  and  so  reasonable  that  I 
soon  forgave  her,  and  made  this  engagement  with 
her  in  proof  of  it.  She  is  really  an  agreeable  girl, 
so  I  think  I  may  like  her;  and  her  great  want  of  a 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  247 

companion  at  home,  which  may  well  make  any 
tolerable  acquaintance  important  to  her,  gives  her 
another  claim  on  my  attention.  I  shall  endeavor 
as  much  as  possible  to  keep  my  intimacies  in  their 
proper  place,  and  prevent  their  clashing.  Among 
so  many  friends,  it  will  be  well  if  I  do  not  get 
into  a  scrape;  and  now  here  is  Miss  Blashford 
come.  I  should  have  gone  distracted  if  the  Bullers 
had  stayed.  .  .  .  When  I  tell  you  I  have  been  vis- 
iting a  countess  this  morning,  you  will  imme- 
diately, with  great  justice  but  no  truth,  guess 
it  to  be  Lady  Koden.  No:  it  is  Lady  Leven, 
the  mother  of  Lord  Balgonie.  On  receiving  a 
message  from  Lord  and  Lady  Leven  through  the 
Mackays,  declaring  their  intention  of  waiting  on 
Ais,  we  thought  it  right  to  go  to  them.  I  hope  we 
lave  not  done  too  much ;  but  the  friends  and 
admirers  of  Charles  must  be  attended  to.  They 
seem  very  reasonable,  good  sort  of  people,  very 
civil,  and  full  of  his  praise.1  We  were  shown  at 
first  into  an  empty  drawing-room;  and  presently  in 
came  his  lordship,  not  knowing  who  we  were,  to 
apologize  for  the  servant's  mistake,  and  to  say 
himself  what  was  untrue,  that  Lady  Leven  was  not 
within.  He  is  a  tall,  gentlemanlike-looking  man, 
with  spectacles,  and  rather  deaf.  After  sitting 
with  him  ten  minutes,  we  walked  away ;  but  Lady 
Leven  coming  out  of  the  dining-parlor  as  we  passed 
the  door,  we  were  obliged  to  attend  her  back  to  it, 
and  pay  our  visit  over  again.  She  is  a  stout 

1  It  seems  that  Charles  Austen,  then  first-lieutenant  of  the 
"  Endymion,"  had  had  an  opportunity  of  showing  attention 
and  kindness  to  some  of  Lord  Leven's  family. 


248  A  MEMOIK   OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

woman,  with  a  very  handsome  face.  By  this 
means  we  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  Charles's 
praises  twice  over.  They  think  themselves  exces- 
sively obliged  to  him,  and  estimate  him  so  highly 
as  to  wish  Lord  Balgonie,  when  he  is  quite 
recovered,  to  go  out  to  him.  There  is  a  pretty 
little  Lady  Marianne  of  the  party,  to  be  shaken 
hands  with,  and  asked  if  she  remembered  Mr. 
Austen.  .  »  . 

I  shall  write  to  Charles  by  the  next  packet, 
unless  you  tell  me  in  the  mean  time  of  your 
intending  to  do  it. 

Believe  me,  if  you  chuse, 

Yr  af£*e  Sister. 

Jane  did  not  estimate  too  highly  the  "  Cousin 
George  "  mentioned  in  the  foregoing  letter,  who 
might  easily  have  been  superior  in  sense  and  wit 
to  the  rest  of  the  party.  He  was  the  Rev.  George 
Leigh  Cooke,  long  known  and  respected  at  Oxford, 
where  he  held  important  offices,  and  had  the  pri- 
vilege of  helping  to  form  the  minds  of  men  more 
eminent  than  himself.  As  Tutor  in  Corpus  Christi 
College,  he  became  instructor  to  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  undergraduates  of  that  time ;  amongst 
others  to  Dr.  Arnold,  the  Rev.  John  Keble,  and 
Sir  John  Coleridge.  The  latter  has  mentioned 
him  in  terms  of  affectionate  regard,  both  in  his 
Memoir  of  Keble,  and  in  a  letter  which  appears  in 
Dean  Stanley's  "Life  of  Arnold.7'  Mr.  Cooke 
was  also  an  impressive  preacher  of  earnest,  awak- 
ening sermons.  I  remember  to  have  heard  it 
observed  by  some  of  my  undergraduate  friends  that, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  249 

after  all,  there  was  more  good  to  be  got  from 
George  Cooke's  plain  sermons  than  from  much  of 
the  more  labored  oratory  of  the  University  pulpit. 
He  was  frequently  Examiner  in  the  schools,  and 
occupied  the  chair  of  the  Sedleian  Professor  of 
Natural  Philosophy,  from  1810  to  1853. 
.  Before  the  end  of  1805,  the  little  family  party 
removed  to  Southampton.  They  resided  in  a  com- 
modious old-fashioned  house  in  a  corner  of  Castle 
Square. 

I  have  no  letters  of  my  aunt,  nor  any  other 
record  of  her,  during  her  four  years'  residence  at 
Southampton ;  and  though  I  now  began  to  know, 
and,  what  was  the  same  thing,  to  love  her  myself, 
yet  my  observations  were  only  those  of  a  young 
boy,  and  were  not  capable  of  penetrating  her  char- 
acter or  estimating  her  powers.  I  have,  however, 
a  lively  recollection  of  some  local  circumstances  at 
Southampton,  and  as  they  refer  chiefly  to  things 
which  have  been  long  ago  swept  away,  I  will 
record  them.  My  grandmother's  house  had  a 
pleasant  garden,  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  old 
city  walls;  the  top  of  this  wall  was  sufficiently 
wide  to  afford  a  pleasant  walk,  with  an  extensive 
view,  easily  accessible  to  ladies  by  steps.  This 
must  have  been  a  part  of  the  identical  walls  which 
witnessed  the  embarkation  of  Henry  V.  before  the 
battle  of  Agincourt,  and  the  detection  of  the  con- 
spiracy of  Cambridge,  Scroop,  and  Grey,  which 
Shakspeare  has  made  so  picturesque ;  when,  accord- 
ing to  the  chorus  in  Henry  V.,  the  citizens  saw 

"  The  well-appointed  King  at  Hampton  Pier 
Embark  his  royalty." 


250  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

Among  the  records  of  the  town  of  Southampton, 
they  have  a  minute  and  authentic  account,  drawn 
up  at  that  time,  of  the  encampment  of  Henry  V. 
near  the  town,  before  his  embarkment  for  France. 
It   is  remarkable  that  the  place  where  the  army 
was  encamped,    then   a  low   level   plain,    is  now 
entirely  covered  by  the  sea,   and  is  called  West- 
port.1     At  that  time  Castle  Square  was  occupied 
by  a  fantastic  edifice,  too  large  for  the  space  in 
which  it  stood,   though  too  small  to  accord  well 
with   its  castellated  style,   erected  by  the  second 
Marquis  of  Lansdowne,   half-brother  to  the  well- 
known  statesman,  who  succeeded  him  in  the  title. 
The  Marchioness  had  a  light  phaeton,  drawn  by 
six,  and  sometimes  by  eight,  little  ponies,  —  each 
pair  decreasing  in  size,  and  becoming  lighter  in 
color,  through  all  the  grades  of  dark  brown,  light 
brown,  bay,  and  chestnut,  as  it  was  placed  farther 
away  from   the  carriage.     The  two  leading  pairs 
were  managed  by  two  boyish  postilions,  the  two 
pairs  nearest  to  the  carriage  were  driven  in  hand. 
It  was  a  delight  to  me  to  look  down  from  the  win- 
dow and  see  this  fairy  equipage  put  together ;  for 
the  premises  of  this  castle  were  so  contracted  that 
the  whole  process  went  on  in  the  little  space  that 
remained  of  the  open  square.     Like   other   fairy 
works,   however,    it  all   proved   evanescent.     Not 
only  carriage  and  ponies,   but  castle   itself,  soon 
vanished   away,    "like  the   baseless    fabric   of  a 
vision.77     On  the  death  of  the  Marquis,  in  1809, 
the  castle  was  pulled  down.    Few  probably  remem- 
ber its  existence}  and  any  one  who  might  visit  the 
1  See  Wharton's  note  to  Johnson  and  Steevens's  Shakspeare. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  251 

place  now  would  wonder  how  it  ever  could  have 
stood  there. 

In  1809  Mr.  Knight  was  able  to  offer  hi£  mother 
the  choice  of  two  houses  on  his  property,  —  one  near 
his  usual  residence  at  Godmersham  Park  in  Kent; 
the  other  near  Chawton  House,  his  occasional  resi- 
dence in  Hampshire.  The  latter  was  chosen ;  and 
in  that  year  the  mother  and  daughters,  together 
with  Miss  Lloyd,  a  near  connection  who  lived 
with  them,  settled  themselves  at  Chawton  Cottage. 

Chawton  may  be  called  the  second,  as  well  as 
the  last  home  of  Jane  Austen;  for  during  the 
temporary  residences  of  the  party  at  Bath  and 
Southampton  she  was  only  a  sojourner  in  a  strange 
land;  but  here  she  found  a  real  home  amongst  her 
own  people.  It  so  happened  that  during  her  resi- 
dence at  Chawton  circumstances  brought  several 
of  her  brothers  and  their  families  within  easy 
distance  of  the  house.  Chawton  must  also  be  con- 
sidered the  place  most  closely  connected  with  her 
career  as  a  writer;  for  there  it  was  that,  in  the 
maturity  of  her  mind,  she  either  wrote  or  rear- 
ranged and  prepared  for  publication  the  books  by 
which  she  has  become  known  to  the  world.  This 
was  the  home  where,  after  a  few  years,  while  still 
in  the  prime  of  life,  she  began  to  droop  and  wither 
away,  and  which  she  left  only  in  the  last  stage  of 
her  illness,  yielding  to  the  persuasion  of  friends 
hoping  against  hope. 

This  house  stood  in  the  village  of  Chawton, 
about  a  mile  from  Alton,  on  the  right-hand  side, 
just  where  the  road  to  Winchester  branches  off 
from  that  to  Gosport.  It  was  so  close  to  the  road 


252  A   MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

that  the  front  door  opened  upon  it;  while  a  very 
narrow  enclosure,  paled  in  on  each  side,  protected 
the  building  from  danger  of  collision  with  any 
runaway  vehicle.  I  believe  it  had  been  originally 
built  for  an  inn,  for  which  purpose  it  was  certainly 
well  situated.  Afterwards  it  had  been  occupied 
by  Mr.  Knight's  steward;  but  by  some  additions 
to  the  house,  and  some  judicious  planting  and 
screening,  it  was  made  a  pleasant  and  commodious 
abode.  Mr.  Knight  was  experienced  and  adroit 
at  such  arrangements,  and  this  was  a  labor  of  love 
to  him.  A  good-sized  entrance  and  two  sitting- 
rooms  made  the  length  of  the  house,  all  intended 
originally  to  look  upon  the  road,  but  the  large 
drawing-room  window  was  blocked  up  and  turned 
into  a  bookcase,  and  another  opened  at  the  side 
which  gave  to  view  only  turf  and  trees,  as  a  high 
wooden  fence  and  hornbeam  hedge  shut  out  the 
Winchester  road,  which  skirted  the  whole  length 
of  the  little  domain.  Trees  were  planted  each  side 
to  form  a  shrubbery  walk,  carried  round  the  en- 
closure, which  gave  a  sufficient  space  for  ladies' 
exercise.  There  was  a  pleasant  irregular  mixture 
of  hedgerow  and  gravel  walk  and  orchard,  and 
long  grass  for  mowing,  arising  from  two  or  three 
little  enclosures  having  been  thrown  together. 
The  house  itself  was  quite  as  good  as  the  generality 
of  parsonage-houses  then  were,  and  much  in  the 
same  style;  and  was  capable  of  receiving  other 
members  of  the  family  as  frequent  visitors.  It 
was  sufficiently  well  furnished;  everj'thing  inside 
and  out  was  kept  in  good  repair,  and  it  was  alto- 
gether a  comfortable  and  ladylike  establishment, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  253 

though  the  means  which  supported  it  were   not 
large. 

I  give  this  description  because  some  interest  is 
generally  taken  in  the  residence  of  a  popular 
writer.  Cowper's  unattractive  house  in  the  street 
of  Olney  has  been  pointed  out  to  visitors,  and  has 
even  attained  the  honor  of  an  engraving  in 
Southey's  edition  of  his  works;  but  I  cannot  re- 
commend any  admirer  of  Jane  Austen  to  under- 
take a  pilgrimage  to  this  spot.  The  building 
indeed  still  stands,  but  it  has  lost  all  that  gave  it 
its  character.  After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Cassandra 
Austen,  in  1845,  it  was  divided  into  tenements 
for  laborers,  and  the  grounds  reverted  to  ordi- 
nary uses. 


254  A  MEMOffi  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  JANE  AUSTEN'S  PERSON,  CHARACTER, 
AND  TASTES. 

As  my  memoir  has  now  reached  the  period  when 
I  saw  a  great  deal  of  my  aunt,  and  was  old  enough 
to  understand  something  of  her  value,  I  will  here 
attempt  a  description  of  her  person,  mind,  arid 
habits.  In  person  she  was  very  attractive;  her 
figure  was  rather  tall  and  slender,  her  step  light 
and  firm,  and  her  whole  appearance  expressive  of 
health  and  animation.  In  complexion  she  was  a 
clear  hrunette  with  a  rich  color ;  she  had  full 
round  cheeks,  with  mouth  and  nose  small  and  well 
formed,  bright  hazel  eyes,  and  brown  hair  forming 
natural  curls  close  round  her  face.  If  not  so  regu- 
larly handsome  as  her  sister,  yet  her  countenance 
had  a  peculiar  charm  of  its  own  to  the  eyes  of 
most  beholders.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  now 
writing,  she  never  was  seen,  either  morning  or  even- 
ing, without  a  cap;  I  believe  that  she  and  her  sister 
were  generally  thought  to  have  taken  to  the  garb 
of  middle  age  earlier  than  their  years  or  their 
looks  required ;  and  that,  though  remarkably  neat  in 
their  dress  as  in  all  their  ways,  they  were  scarcely 
sufficiently  regardful  of  the  fashionable  or  the 
becoming. 

She  was  not  highly  accomplished  according  to 
the  present  standard.     Her  sister  drew  well,  and 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  255 

it  is  from  a  drawing  of  hers  that  the  likeness  pre- 
fixed to  this  volume  has  been  taken.  Jane  herself 
was  fond  of  music,  and  had  a  sweet  voice,  both  in 
singing  and  in  conversation;  in  her  youth  she  had 
received  some  instruction  on  the  pianoforte;  and 
at  Chawton  she  practised  daily,  chiefly  before 
breakfast.  I  believe  she  did  so  partly  that  she 
might  not  disturb  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  were 
less  fond  of  music.  In  the  evening  she  would 
sometimes  sing,  to  her  own  accompaniment,  some 
simple  old  songs,  the  words  and  airs  of  which, 
now  never  heard,  still  linger  in  my  memory. 

She  read  French  with  facility,  and  knew  some- 
thing of  Italian.  In  those  days  German  was 
no  more  thought  of  than  Hindostanee,  as  part  of 
a  lady's  education.  In  history  she  followed  the 
old  guides,  —  Goldsmith,  Hume,  and  Robertson. 
Critical  inquiry  into  the  usually  received  state- 
ments of  the  old  historians  was  scarcely  begun. 
The  history  of  the  early  kings  of  Home  had  not 
yet  been  dissolved  into  legend.  Historic  charac- 
ters lay  before  the  reader's  eyes  in  broad  light  or 
shade,  not  much  broken  up  by  details.  The  vir- 
tues of  King  Henry  VIII.  were  yet  undiscovered, 
nor  had  much  light  been  thrown  on  the  inconsist- 
encies of  Queen  Elizabeth;  the  one  was  held  to  be 
an  unmitigated  tyrant  and  an  embodied  Blue 
Beard,  the  other  a  perfect  model  of  wisdom  and 
policy.  Jane,  when  a  girl,  had  strong  political 
opinions,  especially  about  the  affairs  of  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries.  She  was  a  ve- 
hement defender  of  Charles  I.  and  his  grandmother 
Mary ;  but  I  think  it  was  rather  from  an  impulse  of 


256  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

feeling  than  from  any  inquiry  into  the  evidences 
by  which  they  must  be  condemned  or  acquitted. 
As  she  grew  up,  the  politics  of  the  day  occupied 
very  little  of  her  attention;  but  ahe  probably 
shared  the  feeling  of  moderate  Toryism  which 
prevailed  in  her  family.  She  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  old  periodicals  from  the  ' '  Spectator ' ? 
downwards.  Her  knowledge  of  Richardson's 
works  was  such  as  no  one  is  likely  again  to  ac- 
quire, now  that  the  multitude  and  the  merits  of 
our  light  literature  have  called  off  the  attention  of 
readers  from  that  great  master.  Every  circum- 
stance narrated  in  "Sir  Charles  Grandison,"  all 
that  was  ever  said  or  done  in  the  cedar  parlor, 
was  familiar  to  her;  and  the  wedding  days 
of  Lady  L.  and  Lady  G.  were  as  well  remem- 
bered as  if  they  had  been  living  friends.  Amongst 
her  favorite  writers,  Johnson  in  prose,  Crabbe  in 
verse,  and  Cowper  in  both,  stood  high.  It  is  well 
that  the  native  good  taste  of  herself  and  of  those 
with  whom  she  lived,  saved  her  from  the  snare 
into  which  a  sister  novelist  had  fallen,  of  imitat- 
ing the  grandiloquent  style  of  Johnson.  She 
thoroughly  enjoyed  Crabbe,  perhaps  on  account  of 
a  certain  resemblance  to  herself  in  minute  and 
highly  finished  detail;  and  would  sometimes  say, 
in  jest,  that  if  she  ever  married  at  all,  she  could 
fancy  being  Mrs.  Crabbe,  looking  on  the  author 
quite  as  an  abstract  idea,  and  ignorant  and  regard- 
less what  manner  of  man  he  might  be.  Scott7 s 
poetry  gave  her  great  pleasure ;  she  did  not  live  to 
make  much  acquaintance  with  his  novels.  Only 
three  of  them  were  published  before  her  death; 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  257 

but  it  will  be  seen  by  the  following  extract  from 
one  of  her  letters,  that  she  was  quite  prepared  to 
admit  the  merits  of  "  Waver  ley ;"  and  it  is  re- 
markable that,  living,  as  she  did,  far  apart  from 
the  gossip  of  the  literary  world,  she  should  even 
then  have  spoken  so  confidently  of  his  being  the 
author  of  it :  — 

"Walter  Scott  has  no  business  to  write  novels, 
especially  good  ones.  It  is  not  fair.  He  has  fame 
and  profit  enough  as  a  poet,  and  ought  not  to  be 
taking  the  bread  out  of  other  people's  mouths.  I 
do  not  mean  to  like  <  Waverley,'  if  I  can  help  it, 
but  I  fear  I  must.  I  am  quite  determined,  how- 
ever, not  to  be  pleased  with  Mrs.  's,  should 

I  ever  meet  with  it,  which  I  hope  I  may  not.  I 
think  I  can  be  stout  against  anything  written  by 
her.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  like  no  novels 
really,  but  Miss  Edgeworth's,  E.'s,  and  my  own/' 

It  was  not,  however,  what  she  knew,  but  what 
she  was,  that  distinguished  her  from  others.  I 
cannot  better  describe  the  fascination  which  she 
exercised  over  children  than  by  quoting  the  words 
of  two  of  her  nieces.  One  says :  — 

"  As  a  very  little  girl,  I  was  always  creeping  up 
to  Aunt  Jane,  and  following  her  whenever  I  could, 
in  the  house  and  out  of  it.  I  might  not  have  re- 
membered this  but  for  the  recollection  of  my 
mother's  telling  me  privately,  that  I  must  not  be 
troublesome  to  my  aunt.  Her  first  charm  to  children 
was  great  sweetness  of  manner :  she  seemed  to  love 
you,  and  you  loved  her  in  return.  This,  as  well  as  I 
can  now  recollect,  was  what  I  felt  in  my  early 
days,  before  I  was  old  enough  to  be  amused  by  her 


258  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

cleverness.  But  soon  came  the  delight  of  her 
playful  talk.  She  could  make  everything  amus- 
ing to  a  child.  Then,  as  I  got  older,  when  cousins 
came  to  share  the  entertainment,  she  would  tell 
us  the  most  delightful  stories,  chiefly  of  Fairyland, 
and  her  fairies  had  all  characters  of  their  own. 
The  tale  was  invented,  I  am  sure,  at  the  moment, 
and  was  continued  for  two  or  three  days,  if  occa- 
sion served.'7 

Again:  "When  staying  at  Chawton,  with  two 
of  her  other  nieces,  we  often  had  amusements  in 
which  my  aunt  was  very  helpful.  She  was  the 
one  to  whom  we  always  looked  for  help.  She 
would  furnish  us  with  what  we  wanted  from  her 
wardrobe;  and  she  would  be  the  entertaining 
visitor  in  our  make-believe  house.  She  amused 
us  in  various  ways.  Once,  I  remember,  in  giving 
a  conversation  as  between  myself  and  my  two 
cqusins,  supposing  we  were  all  grown  up,  the  day 
after  a  ball.'7 

Very  similar  is  the  testimony  of  another  niece : 
"Aunt  Jane  was  the  general  favorite  with  chil- 
dren ;  her  ways  with  them  being  so  playful,  and  her 
long  circumstantial  stories  so  delightful.  These 
were  continued  from  time  to  time,  and  were  begged 
for  on  all  possible  and  impossible  occasions ;  woven, 
as  she  proceeded,  out  of  nothing  but  her  own  happy 
talent  for  invention.  Ah,  if  but  one  of  them  could 
be  recovered!  And  again,  as  I  grew  older,  when 
the  original  seventeen  years  between  our  ages 
seemed  to  shrink  to  seven,  or  to  nothing,  it  comes 
back  to  me  now  how  strangely  I  missed  her.  It  had 
become  so  much  a  habit  with  me  to  put  by  things 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  259 

in  my  mind  with  a  reference  to  her,  and  to  say  to 
myself,  I  shall  keep  this  for  Aunt  Jane." 

A  nephew  of  hers  used  to  observe  that  his  visits 
to  Ghawton,  after  the  death  of  his  Aunt  Jane,  were 
always  a  disappointment  to  him.  From  old  asso- 
ciations he  could  not  help  expecting  to  be  particu- 
larly happy  in  that  house;  and  never  till  he  got 
there  could  he  realize  to  himself  how  all  its  pecu- 
liar charm  was  gone.  It  was  not  only  that  the  chief 
light  in  the  house  was  quenched,  but  that  the  loss 
of  it  had  cast  a  shade  over  the  spirits  of  the  sur- 
vivors. Enough  has  been  said  to  show  her  love 
for  children,  and  her  wonderful  power  of  entertain- 
ing them;  but  her  friends  of  all  ages  felt  her  en- 
livening influence.  Her  unusually  quick  sense  of 
the  ridiculous  led  her  to  play  with  all  the  common- 
places of  everyday  life,  whether  as  regarded  persons 
or  things;  but  she  never  played  with  its  serious 
duties  or  responsibilities,  nor  did  she  ever  turn  in- 
dividuals into  ridicule.  With  all  her  neighbors 
in  the  village  she  was  on  friendly,  though  not  on 
intimate,  terms.  She  took  a  kindly  interest  in 
all  their  proceedings,  and  liked  to  hear  about 
them.  They  often  served  for  her  amusement ;  but 
it  was  her  own  nonsense  that  gave  zest  to  the  gos- 
sip. She  was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  cen- 
sorious or  satirical.  She  never  abused  them  or 
quizzed  them,  —  that  was  the  word  of  the  day ;  an 
ugly  word,  now  obsolete;  and  the  ugly  practice 
which  it  expressed  is  much  less  prevalent  now  than 
it  was  then.  The  laugh  which  she  occasionally 
raised  was  by  imagining  for  her  neighbors,  as  she 
was  equally  ready  to  imagine  for  her  friends  or 


260  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

herself,  impossible  contingencies,  or  by  relating  in 
prose  or  verse  some  trifling  anecdote  colored  to  her 
own  fancy,  or  in  writing  a  fictitious  history  of 
what  they  were  supposed  to  have  said  or  done, 
which  could  deceive  nobody. 

The  following  specimens  may  be  given  of  the  live- 
liness of  mind  which  imparted  an  agreeable  flavor 
both  to  her  correspondence  and  her  conversation :  — 

ON  READING  IN  THE  NEWSPAPERS  THE  MARRIAGE  OF 
MR.  GELL,  TO  Miss  GILL,  OF  EASTBOURNE. 

At  Eastbourne  Mr.  Gell,  From  being  perfectly  well, 
Became  dreadfully  ill,  For  love  of  Miss  Gill. 
So  he  said,  with  some  sighs,  I  'm  the  slave  of  your  Us  ; 
Oh,  restore,  if  you  please,  By  accepting  my  ees  ! 

ON  THE  MARRIAGE  OF  A  MIDDLE-AGED  FLIRT  WITH  A  MR. 
WAKE,  WHOM,  IT  WAS  SUPPOSED,  SHE  WOULD  SCARCELY 

HAVE   ACCEPTED   IN   HER   YOUTH. 

Maria,  good-humored  and  handsome  and  tall, 
For  a  husband  was  at  her  last  stake ; 

And  having  in  vain  danced  at  many  a  ball, 
Is  now  happy  to  jump  at  a  Wake. 

Jane  Austen  was  successful  in  everything  that 
she  attempted  with  her  fingers.  None  of  us  could 
throw  spilikins  in  so  perfect  a  circle,  or  take  them 
off  with  so  steady  a  hand.  Her  performances  with 
cup  and  ball  were  marvellous.  The  one  used 
at  Chawton  was  an  easy  one,  and  she  has  been 
known  to  catch  it  on  the  point  above  an  hundred 
times  in  succession,  till  her  hand  was  weary.  She 
sometimes  found  a  resource  in  that  simple  game, 
when  unable,  from  weakness  in  her  eyes,  to  read 
or  write  long  together.  Happy  would  the  com- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  261 

positors  for  the  press  be  if  they  had  always  so  legi- 
ble a  manuscript  to  work  from.  But  the  writ- 
ing was  not  the  only  part  of  her  letters  which 
showed  superior  handiwork.  In  those  days  there 
was  an  art  in  folding  and  sealing.  No  adhesive 
envelopes  made  all  easy.  Some  people's  letters 
always  looked  loose  and  untidy ;  but  her  paper  was 
sure  to  take  the  right  folds,  and  her  sealing-wax 
to  drop  into  the  right  place.  Her  needlework,  both 
plain  and  ornamental,  was  excellent,  and  might  al- 
most have  put  a  sewing-machine  to  shame.  She 
was  considered  especially  great  in  satin  stitch. 
She  spent  much  time  in  these  occupations,  and 
some  of  her  merriest  talk  was  over  clothes  which 
she  and  her  companions  were  making,  —  sometimes 
for  themselves,  and  sometimes  for  the  poor.  There 
still  remains  a  curious  specimen  of  her  needlework 
made  for  a  sister-in-law,  my  mother.  In  a  very 
small  bag  is  deposited  a  little  rolled-up  housewife, 
furnished  with  minikin  needles  and  fine  thread. 
In  the  housewife  is  a  tiny  pocket,  and  in  the 
pocket  is  enclosed  a  slip  of  paper,  on  which,  writ- 
ten as  with  a  crow-quill,  are  these  lines :  — 

"  This  little  bag,  I  hope,  will  prove 

To  be  not  vainly  made  ; 
For  should  you  thread  and  needles  want, 
It  will  afford  you  aid. 

"  And,  as  we  are  about  to  part, 

'T  will  serve  another  end  ; 
For  when  you  look  upon  this  bag, 
You  '11  recollect  your  friend." 

It  is  the  kind  of  article  that  some  benevolent  fairy 
might  be  supposed  to  give  as  a  reward  to  a  diligent 


262  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

little  girl.  The  whole  is  of  flowered  silk,  and 
having  been  never  used  and  carefully  preserved, 
it  is  as  fresh  and  bright  as  when  it  was  first  made, 
seventy  years  ago ;  and  shows  that  the  same  hand 
which  painted  so  exquisitely  with  the  pen  could 
work  as  delicately  with  the  needle. 

I  have  collected  some  of  the  bright  qualities 
which  shone,  as  it  were,  on  the  surface  of  Jane 
Austen's  character,  and  attracted  most  notice;  but 
underneath  them  there  lay  the  strong  foundations 
of  sound  sense  and  judgment,  rectitude  of  princi- 
ple, and  delicacy  of  feeling,  qualifying  her  equally 
to  advise,  assist,  or  amuse.  She  was,  in  fact,  as 
ready  to  comfort  the  unhappy  or  to  nurse  the  sick 
as  she  was  to  laugh  and  jest  with  the  light-hearted. 
Two  of  her  nieces  were  grown  up,  and  one  of  them 
was  married,  before  she  was  taken  away  from  them. 
As  their  minds  became  more  matured,  they  were 
admitted  into  closer  intimacy  with  her,  and  learned 
more  of  her  graver  thoughts;  they  know  what  a 
sympathizing  friend  and  judicious  adviser  they 
found  her  to  be  in  many  little  difficulties  and 
doubts  of  early  womanhood. 

I  do  not  venture  to  speak  of  her  religious  prin- 
ciples :  that  is  a  subject  on  which  she  herself  was 
more  inclined  to  think  and  act  than  to  talk,  and  I 
shall  imitate  her  reserve;  satisfied  to  have  shown 
how  much  of  Christian  love  and  humilit}7  abounded 
in  her  heart,  without  presuming  to  lay  bare  the 
roots  whence  those  graces  grew.  Some  little  in- 
sight, however,  into  these  deeper  recesses  of  the 
heart  must  be  given,  when  we  come  to  speak  of 
her  death. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  263 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SECLUSION  FROM  THE  LITERARY  WORLD  —  NOTICE  FROM  THE 
PRINCE  REGENT  —  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  MR.  CLARKE  — 
SUGGESTIONS  TO  ALTER  HER  STYLE  OF  WRITING. 

JANE  AUSTEN  lived  in  entire  seclusion  from  the 
literary  world :  neither  hy  correspondence  nor  by 
personal  intercourse  was  she  known  to  any  contem- 
porary authors.  It  is  probable  that  she  never  was 
in  company  with  any  person  whose  talents  or  whose 
celebrity  equalled  her  own;  so  that  her  powers 
never  could  have  been  sharpened  by  collision  with 
superior  intellects,  nor  her  imagination  aided  by 
their  casual  suggestions.  Whatever  she  produced 
was  a  genuine  home-made  article.  Even  during 
the  last  two  or  three  years  of  her  life,  when  her 
works  were  rising  in  the  estimation  of  the  public, 
they  did  not  enlarge  the  circle  of  her  acquaintance. 
Few  of  her  readers  knew  even  her  name,  and  none 
knew  more  of  her  than  her  name.  I  doubt  whether 
it  would  be  possible  to  mention  any  other  author 
of  note  whose  personal  obscurity  was  so  complete. 
I  can  think  of  none  like  her,  but  of  many  to  con- 
trast with  her  in  that  respect.  Fanny  Burney, 
afterwards  Madame  D'Arblay,  was  at  an  early  age 
petted  by  Dr.  Johnson,  and  introduced  to  the  wits 
and  scholars  of  the  day  at  the  tables  of  Mrs.  Thrale 
and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  Anna  Seward,  in  her 


264  A   MEMOIR   OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

self-constituted  shrine  at  Lichfield,  would  have 
been  miserable,  had  she  not  trusted  that  the  eyes 
of  all  lovers  of  poetry  were  devoutly  fixed  011  her. 
Joanna  Baillie  and  Maria  Edge  worth  were  indeed 
far  from  courting  publicity;  they  loved  the  pri- 
vacy of  their  own  families,  one  with  hor  brother 
and  sister  in  their  Hampstead  villa,  the  other  in 
her  more  distant  retreat  in  Ireland;  but  fame  pur- 
sued them,  and  they  were  the  favorite  correspon- 
dents of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Crabbe,  who  was  usually 
buried  in  a  country  parish,  yet  sometimes  visited 
London,  and  dined  at  Holland  House,  and  was  re- 
ceived as  a  fellow-poet  by  Campbell,  Moore,  and 
Kogers;  and  on  one  memorable  occasion  he  was 
Scott's  guest  at  Edinburgh,  and  gazed  with  won- 
dering eyes  on  the  incongruous  pageantry  with 
which  George  IV.  was  entertained  in  that  city. 
Even  those  great  writers  who  hid  themselves 
amongst  lakes  and  mountains  associated  with  each 
other,  and,  though  little  seen  by  the  world,  were  so 
much  in  its  thoughts  that  a  new  term,  "  Lakers, " 
was  coined  to  designate  them.  The  chief  part  of 
Charlotte  Bronte's  life  was  spent  in  a  wild  solitude 
compared  with  which  Steventon  and  Chawton 
might  be  considered  to  be  in  the  gay  world;  and 
yet  she  attained  to  personal  distinction  which 
never  fell  to  Jane's  lot.  When  she  visited  her 
kind  publisher  in  London,  literary  men  and  women 
were  invited  purposely  to  meet  her;  Thackeray  be- 
stowed upon  her  the  honor  of  his  notice  ;  and  once 
in  Willis's  Kooms,1  she  had  to  walk  shy  and  trem- 
bling through  an  avenue  of  lords  and  ladies,  drawn 
1  See  Mrs.  Gaskell's  "  Life  of  Miss  Bronte,"  vol.  ii.  p.  215. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  265 

up  for  the  purpose  of  gazing  at  the  author  of  "Jane 
Eyre."     Miss  Mitford,  too,  lived  quietly  in  "  Our 
Village,"    devoting  her   time   and  talents  to  the 
benefit  of  a  father  scarcely  worthy  of  her;  but  she 
did  not  live  there  unknown.     Her  tragedies  gave 
her  a  name  in  London.    She  numbered  Milman  and 
Talfourd    amongst    her   correspondents;     and    her 
works  were  a  passport  to  the  society  of  many  who 
would  not  otherwise  have  sought  her.     Hundreds 
admired  Miss  Mitford  on  account  of  her  writings 
for  one  who  ever  connected  the  idea  of    Miss  Aus- 
ten   with   the   press.     A  few  years  ago,  a  gentle- 
man visiting  Winchester  Cathedral  desired  to  be 
shown   Miss    Austen's  grave.     The  verger,  as  he 
pointed  it  out,  asked,    "  Pray,  sir,  can  you  tell  me 
whether  there  was  anything  particular  about  that 
lady?  so  many  people  want  to  know  where  she  was 
buried!  "    During  her  life  the  ignorance  of  the  ver- 
ger was  shared   by  most   people;   few  knew   that 
" there  was  anything  particular  about  that  lady." 
It  was  not  till  towards  the  close  of  her  life,  when 
the  last  of  the  works  that  she  saw  published  was 
in  the  press,   that  she  received  the  only  mark  of 
distinction  ever  bestowed  upon  her;  and  that  was 
remarkable  for   the   high  quarter  whence    it  ema- 
nated rather  than  for  any  actual  increase  of   fame 
that    it   conferred.       It   happened   thus.      In    the 
autumn  of   1815   she   nursed   her   brother   Henry 
through  a  dangerous  fever  and  slow  convalescence 
at  his  house  in  Hans  Place.     He  was  attended  by 
one  of   the    Prince    Regent's  physicians.     All  at- 
tempts to  keep  her  name  secret  had  at  this  time 
ceased,  and  though  it  had  never  appeared  on  a  title- 


266  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

page,  all  who  cared  to  know  might  easily  learn  it; 
and  the  friendly  physician  was  aware  that  his  pa- 
tient's nurse  was  the  author  of  "  Pride  and  Preju- 
dice." Accordingly  he  informed  her  one  day  that 
the  Prince  was  a  great  admirer  of  her  novels ;  that  he 
read  them  often,  and  kept  a  set  in  every  one  of  his 
residences;  that  he  himself  therefore  had  thought 
it  right  to  inform  his  Royal  Highness  that  Miss 
Austen  was  staying  in  London,  and  that  the  Prince 
had  desired  Mr.  Clarke,  the  librarian  of  Carlton 
House,  to  wait  upon  her.  The  next  day  Mr.  Clarke 
made  his  appearance,  and  invited  her  to  Carlton 
House,  saying  that  he  had  the  Prince's  instructions 
to  show  her  the  library  and  other  apartments,  and 
to  pay  her  every  possible  attention.  The  invita- 
tion was  of  course  accepted,  and  during  the  visit 
to  Carlton  House  Mr.  Clarke  declared  himself  com- 
missioned to  say  that  if  Miss  Austen  had  any  other 
novel  forthcoming  she  was  at  liberty  to  dedicate  it 
to  the  Prince.  Accordingly  such  a  dedication  was 
immediately  prefixed  to  "Emma,"  which  was  at 
that  time  in  the  press. 

Mr.  Clarke  was  the  brother  of  Dr.  Clarke,  the 
traveller  and  mineralogist,  whose  life  has  been 
written  by  Bishop  Otter.  Jane  found  in  him  not 
only  a  very  courteous  gentleman,  but  also  a  warm 
admirer  of  her  talents ;  though  it  will  be  seen  by 
his  letters  that  he  did  not  clearly  apprehend  the 
limits  of  her  powers,  or  the  proper  field  for  their 
exercise.  The  following  correspondence  took  place 
between  them. 

Feeling  some  apprehension  lest  she  should  make 
a  mistake  in  acting  on  the  verbal  permission  which 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  267 

she  had  received  from  the  Prince,  Jane  addressed 
the  following  letter  to  Mr.  Clarke:  — 

Nov.  15,  1815. 

SIR,  —  I  must  take  the  liberty  of  asking  you  a 
question.  Among  the  many  flattering  attentions 
which  I  received  from  you  at  Carlton  House  on 
Monday  last  was  the  information  of  my  being  at 
liberty  to  dedicate  any  future  work  to  His  Royal 
Highness  the  Prince  Regent,  without  the  necessity 
of  any  solicitation  on  my  part.  Such,  at  least,  I 
believed  to  be  your  words ;  but  as  I  am  very  anxious 
to  be  quite  certain  of  what  was  intended,  I  entreat 
you  to  have  the  goodness  to  inform  me  how  such  a 
permission  is  to  be  understood,  and  whether  it  is 
incumbent  on  me  to  show  my  sense  of  the  honor 
by  inscribing  the  work  now  in  the  press  to  His 
Royal  Highness ;  I  should  be  equally  concerned  to 
appear  either  presumptuous  or  ungrateful. 

The  following  gracious  answer  was  returned  by 
Mr.  Clarke,  together  with  a  suggestion  which 
must  have  been  received  with  some  surprise :  — 

CARLTON  HOUSE,  Nov.  16,  1815. 

DEAR  MADAM,  —  It  is  certainly  not  incum- 
bent on  you  to  dedicate  your  work  now  in  the  press 
to  His  Royal  Highness;  but  if  you  wish  to  do  the 
Regent  that  honor  either  now  or  at  any  future 
period  I  am  happy  to  send  you  that  permission, 
which  need  not  require  any  more  trouble  or  solici- 
tation on  your  part. 

Your    late    works,    Madam,    and    in    particular 


268  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

"  Mansfield  Park,"  reflect  the  highest  honor  on 
your  genius  and  your  principles.  In  every  new 
work  your  mind  seems  to  increase  its  energy  and 
power  of  discrimination.  The  Regent  has  read 
and  admired  all  your  publications. 

Accept  my  best  thanks  for  the  pleasure  your 
volumes  have  given  me.  In  the  perusal  of  them  I 
felt  a  great  inclination  to  write  and  say  so.  And 
I  also,  dear  Madam,  wished  to  be  allowed  to  ask 
you  to  delineate  in  some  future  work  the  habits  of 
life,  and  character,  and  enthusiasm  of  a  clergyman 
who  should  pass  his  time  between  the  metropolis 
and  the  country,  who  should  be  something  like 
Beattie's  Minstrel,  — 

Silent  when  glad,  affectionate  tho'  shy, 

And  in  his  looks  was  most  demurely  sad ; 
And  now  he  laughed  aloud,  yet  none  knew  why. 

Neither  Goldsmith,  nor  La  Fontaine  in  his  "  Ta- 
bleau de  Famille,"  have  in  my  mind  quite  deline- 
ated an  English  clergyman,  at  least  of  the  present 
day,  fond  of  and  entirely  engaged  in  literature,  no 
man's  enemy  but  his  own.  Pray,  dear  Madam, 
think  of  these  things. 

Believe  me  at  all  times  with  sincerity  and  respect, 
Your  faithful  and  obliged  servant, 

J.  S.  CLARKE,  Librarian. 

The  following  letter,  written  in  reply,  will  show 
how  unequal  the  author  of  "  Pride  and  Prejudice  " 
felt  herself  to  delineating  an  enthusiastic  clergy- 
man of  the  present  day,  who  should  resemble 
Beattie's  Minstrel :  — 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  269 

Dec.  11. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  My  "Emma"  is  now  so  near 
publication  that  I  feel  it  right  to  assure  you  of  my 
not  having  forgotten  your  kind  recommendation  of 
an  early  copy  for  Carlton  House,  and  that  I  have 
Mr.  Murray's  promise  of  its  being  sent  to  His 
Royal  Highness,  under  cover  to  you,  three  days 
previous  to  the  work  being  really  out.  I  must 
make  use  of  this  opportunity  to  thank  you,  dear 
Sir,  for  the  very  high  praise  you  bestow  on  my 
other  novels.  I  am  too  vain  to  wish  to  convince 
you  that  you  have  praised  them  beyond  their 
merits.  My  greatest  anxiety  at  present  is  that 
this  fourth  work  should  not  disgrace  what  was 
good  in  the  others.  But  on  this  point  I  will  do 
myself  the  justice  to  declare  that,  whatever  may 
be  my  wishes  for  its  success,  I  am  strongly 
haunted  with  the  idea  that  to  those  readers  who 
have  preferred  " Pride  and  Prejudice"  it  will  ap- 
pear inferior  in  wit,  and  to  those  who  have  pre- 
ferred "Mansfield  Park77  inferior  in  good  sense. 
Such  as  it  is,  however,  I  hope  you  will  do  me  the 
favor  of  accepting  a  copy.  Mr.  Murray  will  have 
directions  for  sending  one.  I  am  quite  honored 
by  your  thinking  me  capable  of  drawing  such  a 
clergyman  as  you  gave  the  sketch  of  in  your  note 
of  Nov.  16th.  But  I  assure  you  I  am  not.  The 
comic  part  of  the  character  I  might  be  equal  to, 
but  not  the  good,  the  enthusiastic,  the  literary. 
Such  a  man's  conversation  must  at  times  be  on 
subjects  of  science  and  philosophy,  of  which  I 
know  nothing;  or  at  least  be  occasionally  abundant 
in  quotations  and  allusions  which  a  woman  who, 


270  A  MEMOIR   OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

like  me,  knows  only  her  own  mother  tongue,  and 
has  read  little  in  that,  would  be  totally  without 
the  power  of  giving.  A  classical  education,  or  at 
any  rate  a  very  extensive  acquaintance  with  Eng- 
lish literature,  ancient  and  modern,  appears  to  me 
quite  indispensable  for  the  person  who  would  do 
any  justice  to  your  clergyman;  and  I  think  I  may 
boast  myself  to  be,  with  all  possible  vanity,  the 
most  unlearned  and  uninformed  female  who  ever 
dared  to  be  an  authoress. 
Believe  me,  dear  Sir, 

Your  obliged  and  faithful  humbl  Ser*, 

JANE  AUSTEN.  l 

Mr.  Clarke,  however,  was  not  to  be  discouraged 
from  proposing  another  subject.  He  had  recently 
been  appointed  chaplain  and  private  English  secre- 
tary to  Prince  Leopold,  who  was  then  about  to  be 
united  to  the  Princess  Charlotte;  and  when  he 
again  wrote  to  express  the  gracious  thanks  of  the 
Prince  Regent  for  the  copy  of  "  Emma  "  which  had 
been  presented,  he  suggests  that  "an  historical 
romance  illustrative  of  the  august  House  of  Cobourg 
would  just  now  be  very  interesting,"  and  might 
very  properly  be  dedicated  to  Prince  Leopold. 
This  was  much  as  if  Sir  William  Ross  had  been 
set  to  paint  a  great  battle-piece ;  and  it  is  amusing 
to  see  with  what  grave  civility  she  declined  a 

1  It  was  her  pleasure  to  boast  of  greater  ignorance  than 
she  had  any  just  claim  to.  She  knew  more  than  her  mother 
tongue,  for  she  knew  a  good  deal  of  French  and  a  little  of 
Italian. 


A   MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  271 

proposal  which  must  have  struck  her  as  ludicrous, 
in  the  following  letter  :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  am  honored  by  the  Prince's 
thanks,  and  very  much  obliged  to  yourself  for  the 
kind  manner  in  which  you  mention  the  work.  I 
have  also  to  acknowledge  a  former  letter  forwarded 
to  me  from  Hans  Place.  I  assure  you  I  felt  very 
grateful  for  the  friendly  tenor  of  it,  and  hope  my 
silence  will  have  been  considered,  as  it  was  truly 
meant,  to  proceed  only  from  an  unwillingness  to 
tax  your  time  with  idle  thanks.  Under  every  in- 
teresting circumstance  which  your  own  talents  and 
literary  labors  have  placed  you  in,  or  the  favor 
of  the  Kegent  bestowed,  you  have  my  best  wishes. 
Your  recent  appointments,  I  hope,  are  a  step  to 
something  still  better.  In  my  opinion,  the  ser- 
vice of  a  court  can  hardly  be  too  well  paid,  for 
immense  must  be  the  sacrifice  of  time  and  feeling 
required  by  it. 

You  are  very  kind  in  your  hints  as  to  the  sort 
of  composition  which  might  recommend  me  at 
present,  and  I  am  fully  sensible  that  an  historical 
romance,  founded  on  the  House  of  Saxe  Cobourg, 
might  be  much  more  to  the  purpose  of  profit  or 
popularity  than  such  pictures  of  domestic  life  in 
country  villages  as  I  deal  in.  But  I  could  no 
more  write  a  romance  than  an  epic  poem.  I  could 
not  sit  seriously  down  to  write  a  serious  romance 
under  any  other  motive  than  to  save  my  life ;  and 
if  it  were  indispensable  for  me  to  keep  it  up  and 
never  relax  into  laughing  at  myself  or  at  other 
people,  I  am  sure  I  should  be  hung  before  I  had 


272  A   MEMOIK  OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

finished  the  first  chapter.     No,   I  must  keep  to  my 
own  style  and  go  on  in  my  own  way ;  and  though 
I  may  never  succeed  again  in  that,  I  am  convinced 
that  I  should  totally  fail  in  any  other. 
I  remain,  my  dear  Sir, 
Your  very  much  obliged  and  sincere  friend, 

J.  AUSTEN. 
CHAWTON,  near  ALTON,  April  1,  1816. 

Mr.  Clarke  should  have  recollected  the  warning 
of  the  wise  man,  "  Force  not  the  course  of  the 
river. "  If  you  divert  it  from  the  channel  in 
which  nature  taught  it  to  flow,  and  force  it  into 
one  arbitrarily  cut  by  yourself,  you  will  lose  its 
grace  and  beauty. 

But  when  his  free  course  is  not  hindered, 

He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamelled  stones, 

Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 

He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage ; 

And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays 

With  willing  sport. 

All  writers  of  fiction  who  have  genius  strong 
enough  to  work  out  a  course  of  their  own  resist 
every  attempt  to  interfere  with  its  direction.  No 
two  writers  could  be  more  unlike  each  other  than 
Jane  Austen  and  Charlotte  Bronte,  —  so  much  so 
that  the  latter  was  unable  to  understand  why  the  for- 
mer was  admired,  and  confessed  that  she  herself 
"  should  hardly  like  to  live  with  her  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  in  their  elegant  but  confined  houses  ;  J> 
but  each  writer  equally  resisted  interference  with 
her  own  natural  style  of  composition.  Miss 
Bronte,  in  reply  to  a  friendly  critic,  who  had 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN.  273 

warned  her  against  being  too  melodramatic,  and 
had  ventured  to  propose  Miss  Austen's  works  to 
her  as  a  study,  writes  thus :  — 

' i  Whenever  I  do  write  another  book,  I  think  I 
will  have  nothing  of  what  you  call  (  melodrama. ' 
I  think  so,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  think,  too,  I  will 
endeavor  to  follow  the  counsel  which  shines  out  of 
, Miss  Austen's  'mild  eyes,'  to  finish  more,  and 
be  more  subdued;  but  neither  am  I  sure  of  that. 
When  authors  write  best,  or  at  least  when  they 
write  most  fluently,  an  influence  seems  to  waken 
in  them  which  becomes  their  master,  —  which  will 
have  its  way,  —  putting  out  of  view  all  behests  but 
its  own,  dictating  certain  words,  and  insisting  on 
their  being  used,  whether  vehement  or  measured 
in  their  nature,  new-moulding  characters,  giving 
unthought-of  turns  to  incidents,  rejecting  carefully 
elaborated  old  ideas,  and  suddenly  creating  and 
adopting  new  ones.  Is  it  not  so?  And  should 
we  try  to  counteract  this  influence?  Can  we 
indeed  counteract  it?"1 

The  playful  raillery  with  which  the  one  parries 
an  attack  on  her  liberty,  and  the  vehement  elo- 
quence of  the  other  in  pleading  the  same  cause  and 
maintaining  the  independence  of  genius,  are  very 
characteristic  of  the  minds  of  the  respective 
writers. 

The  suggestions  which  Jane  received  as  to  the 
sort  of  story  that  she  ought  to  write  were,  how- 
ever, an  amusement  to  her,  though  they  were  not 
likely  to  prove  useful ;  and  she  has  left  amongst 
her  papers  one  entitled  * '  Plan  of  a  novel  accord- 

1  Mrs.  GaskelTs  "  Life  of  Miss  Bronte,"  vol.  ii.  p.  53. 
18 


274  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

ing  to  hints  from  various  quarters. "  The  names  of 
some  of  those  advisers  are  written  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  manuscript,  opposite  to  their  respective 
suggestions. 

"  Heroine  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman, 
who  after  having  lived  much  in  the  world  had 
retired  from  it,  and  settled  on  a  curacy  with  a 
very  small  fortune  of  his  own.  The  most  excel- 
lent man  that  can  he  imagined,  perfect  in  charac- 
ter, temper,  and  manner,  without  the  smallest 
drawback  or  peculiarity  to  prevent  his  being  the 
most  delightful  companion  to  his  daughter  from 
one  year's  end  to  the  other.  Heroine  faultless  in 
character,  beautiful  in  person,  and  possessing 
every  possible  accomplishment.  Book  to  open 
with  father  and  daughter  conversing  in  long 
speeches,  elegant  language,  and  a  tone  of  high 
serious  sentiment.  The  father  induced,  at  his 
daughter's  earnest  request,  to  relate  to  her  the 
past  events  of  his  life.  Narrative  to  reach 
through  the  greater  part  of  the  first  volume;  as, 
besides  all  the  circumstances  of  his  attachment  to 
her  mother,  and  their  marriage,  it  will  compre- 
hend his  going  to  sea  as  chaplain  to  a  distin- 
guished naval  character  about  the  court;  and  his 
going  afterwards  to  court  himself,  which  involved 
him  in  many  interesting  situations,  concluding 
with  his  opinion  of  the  benefits  of  tithes  being 
done  away  with.  .  .  .  From  this  outset  the  story 
will  proceed,  and  contain  a  striking  variety  of 
adventures.  Father  an  exemplary  parish  priest, 
and  devoted  to  literature;  but  heroine  and  father 
never  above  a  fortnight  in  one  place, — he  being 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  275 

driven  from  his  curacy  by  the  vile  arts  of  some 
totally  unprincipled  and  heartless  3roung  man, 
desperately  in  love  with  the  heroine,  and  pursu- 
ing her  with  unrelenting  passion,  No  sooner  set- 
tled in  one  country  of  Europe  than  they  are 
compelled  to  quit  it  and  retire  to  another,  always 
making  new  acquaintance,  and  always  obliged  to 
leave  them.  This  will  of  course  exhibit  a  wide 
variety  of  character.  The  scene  will  be  forever 
shifting  from  one  set  of  people  to  another,  but 
there  will  be  no  mixture ;  all  the  good  will  be  un- 
exceptionable in  every  respect.  There  will  be  no 
foibles  or  weaknesses  but  with  the  wicked,  who 
will  be  completely  depraved  and  infamous,  hardly 
a  resemblance  of  humanity  left  in  them.  Early  in 
her  career  the  heroine  must  meet  with  the  hero: 
all  perfection,  of  course,  and  only  prevented  from 
paying  his  addresses  to  her  by  some  excess  of  re- 
finement. Wherever  she  goes,  somebody  falls  in 
love  with  her,  and  she  receives  repeated  offers  of 
marriage,  which  she  refers  wholly  to  her  father, 
exceedingly  angry  that  he  should  not  be  the  first 
applied  to.  Often  carried  away  by  the  anti-hero, 
but  rescued  either  by  her  father  or  the  hero. 
Often  reduced  to  support  herself  and  her  father  by 
her  talents,  and  work  for  her  bread;  continually 
cheated,  and  defrauded  of  her  hire ;.  worn  down  to 
a  skeleton,  and  now  and  then  starved  to  death. 
At  last,  hunted  out  of  civilized  society,  denied 
the  poor  shelter  of  the  humblest  cottage,  they  are 
compelled  to  retreat  into  Kamtschatka,  where  the 
poor  father,  quite  worn  down,  finding  his  end  ap- 
proaching, throws  himself  on  the  ground,  and 


276  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

after  four  or  five  hours  of  tender  advice  and  pa- 
rental admonition  to  his  miserable  child,  expires 
in  a  fine  burst  of  literary  enthusiasm,  intermin- 
gled with  invectives  against  the  holders  of  tithes. 
Heroine  inconsolable  for  some  time,  but  after- 
wards crawls  back  towards  her  former  country, 
having  at  least  twenty  narrow  escapes  of  falling 
into  the  hands  of  anti-hero;  and  at  last,  in  the 
very  nick  of  time,  turning  a  corner  to  avoid  him, 
runs  into  the  arms  of  the  hero  himself,  who,  hav- 
ing just  shaken  off  the  scruples  which  fettered  him 
before,  was  at  the  very  moment  setting  off  in 
pursuit  of  her.  The  tenderest  and  completest 
eclaircissement  takes  place,  and  they  are  happily 
united.  Throughout  the  whole  work  heroine  to 
be  in  the  most  elegant  society,  and  living  in  high 
style.77 

Since  the  first  publication  of  this  memoir,  Mr. 
Murray  of  Albemarle  Street  has  very  kindly  sent 
to  me  copies  of  the  following  letters,  which  his 
father  received  from  Jane  Austen,  when  engaged 
in  the  publication  of  "Emma."  The  increasing 
cordiality  of  the  letters  shows  that  the  author  felt 
that  her  interests  were  duly  cared  for,  and  was 
glad  to  find  herself  in  the  hands  of  a  publisher 
whom  she  could  consider  as  a  friend. 

Her  brother  had  addressed  to  Mr.  Murray  a 
strong  complaint  of  the  tardiness  of  a  printer :  — 

23  HANS  PLACE,  Thursday,  November  23  (1815). 
SIB,  —  My   brother's    note    last    Monday   has 
been  so  fruitless  that   I    am  afraid  there  can  be 
but  little  chance  of  my  writing  to  any  good  effect; 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  277 

but  yet  I  am  so  very  much  disappointed  and 
vexed  by  the  delays  of  the  printers,  that  I  cannot 
help  begging  to  know  whether  there  is  no  hope  of 
their  being  quickened.  Instead  of  the  work  being 
ready  by  the  end  of  the  present  month,  it  will 
hardly,  at  the  rate  we  now  proceed,  be  finished  by 
the  end  of  the  next;  and  as  I  expect  to  leave 
London  early  in  December,  it  is  of  consequence 
that  no  more  time  should  be  lost.  Is  it  likely 
that  the  printers  will  be  influenced  to  greater  de- 
spatch and  punctuality  by  knowing  that  the  work 
is  to  be  dedicated,  by  permission,  to  the  Prince 
Regent?  If  you  can  make  that  circumstance  oper- 
ate, I  shall  be  very  glad.  My  brother  returns 
"  Waterloo  "  with  many  thanks  for  the  loan  of  it. 
We  have  heard  much  of  Scott's  account  of  Paris.1 
If  it  be  not  incompatible  with  other  arrangements, 
would  you  favor  us  with  it,  supposing  you  have 
any  set  already  opened?  You  may  depend  upon 
its  being  in  careful  hands. 

I  remain,  Sir,  your  ob'  humble  Se*, 

J.  AUSTEN. 


HANS  PLACE,  December  11  (1815). 

DEAR  SIR, — As  I  find  that  "Emma"  is  ad- 
vertised for  publication  as  early  as  Saturday  next, 
I  think  it  best  to  lose  no  time  in  settling  all  that 
remains  to  be  settled  on  the  subject,  and  adopt 
this  method  as  involving  the  smallest  tax  on  your 
time. 

In  the   first   place,    I   beg   you    to    understand 

1  This  must  have  been  "  Paul's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk." 


278  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

that  I  leave  the  terms  on  which  the  trade  should 
be  supplied  with  the  work  entirely  to  your  judg- 
ment, entreating  you  to  be  guided  in  every  such 
arrangement  by  your  own  experience  of  what  is 
most  likely  to  clear  off  the  edition  rapidly.  I 
shall  be  satisfied  with  whatever  you  feel  to  be  best. 
The  titlepage  must  be  "Emma,  dedicated  by 
permission  to  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince  Regent." 
And  it  is  my  particular  wish  that  one  set  should 
be  completed  and  sent  to  H.  R.  H.  two  or  three 
days  before  the  work  is  generally  public.  It 
should  be  sent  under  cover  to  the  Rev.  J.  S. 
Clarke,  Librarian,  Carlton  House.  I  shall  sub- 
join a  list  of  those  persons  to  whom  I  must  trouble 
you  to  forward  also  a  set  each,  when  the  work  is 
out;  all  unbound,  with  "From  the  Authoress" 
in  the  first  page. 

I  return  you,  with  very  many  thanks,  the 
books  you  have  so  obligingly  supplied  me  with. 
I  ain  very  sensible,  I  assure  you,  of  the  attention 
you  have  paid  to  my  convenience  and  amusement. 
I  return  also  "Mansfield  Park,"  as  ready  for  a 
second  edition,  I  believe,  as  I  can  make  it.  I  am 
in  Hans  Place  till  the  16th.  From  that  day  in- 
clusive, my  direction  will  be  Chawton,  Alton, 
Hants. 

I  remain,  dear  Sir, 

Yr  faithful  humb.  Serv1, 

J.  AUSTEN. 

I  wish  you  would  have  the  goodness  to  send  a 
line  by  the  bearer,  stating  the  day  on  which  the 
set  will  be  ready  for  the  Prince  Regent. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  279 

HANS  PLACE,  December  11,  1815. 
DEAR  SIR,  —  I  am  much  obliged  by  yours,  and 
very  happy  to  feel  everything  arranged  to  our 
mutual  satisfaction.  As  to  my  direction  about 
the  titlepage,  it  was  arising  from  my  ignorance 
only,  and  from  my  having  never  noticed  the  proper 
place  for  a  dedication.  I  thank  you  for  putting 
me  right.  Any  deviation  from  what  is  usually 
done  in  such  cases  is  the  last  thing  I  should  wish 
for.  I  feel  happy  in  having  a  friend  to  save  me 
from  the  ill  effect  of  my  own  blunder. 
Yours,  dear  Sir,  etc., 

J.  AUSTEN. 

CHAWTON,  April  1,  1816. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  return  you  the  "  Quarterly  Re- 
view "  with  many  thanks.  The  Authoress  of 
"Emma"  has  no  reason,  I  think,  to  complain  of 
her  treatment  in  it,  except  in  the  total  omission  of 
"  Mansfield  Park.'7  I  cannot  but  be  sorry  that  so 
clever  a  man  as  the  Keviewer  of  "Emma"  should 
consider  it  as  unworthy  of  being  noticed.  You 
will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I  have  received  the 
Prince's  thanks  for  the  handsome  copy  I  sent  him 
of  "Emma."  Whatever  he  may  think  of  my 
share  of  the  work,  yours  seems  to  have  been  quite 
right. 

In  consequence  of  the  late  event  in  Henrietta 
Street,  I  must  request  that  if  you  should  at  any 
time  have  anything  to  communicate  by  letter,  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  write  by  the  post,  directing 
to  me  (Miss  J.  Austen),  Chawton,  near  Alton; 
and  that  for  anything  of  a  larger  bulk,  you  will 


280  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

add  to  the  same  direction,  by  Collier's  Southamp- 
ton coach. 

I  remain,  dear  Sir, 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

J.  AUSTEN. 

About  the  same  time  the  following  letters  passed 
between  the  Countess  of  Morley  and  the  writer  of 
"Emma."  I  do  not  know  whether  they  were 
personally  acquainted  with  each  other,  nor  in  what 
this  interchange  of  civilities  originated:  — 

The  Countess  of  Morley  to  Miss  J.  Austen. 

SALTRAM,  December  27  (1815). 

MADAM,  —  I  have  been  most  anxiously  waiting 
for  an  introduction  to  "Emma,"  and  am  infinitely 
obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  recollection  of  me, 
which  will  procure  me  the  pleasure  of  her  acquaint- 
ance some  days  sooner  than  I  should  otherwise 
have  had  it.  I  am  already  become  intimate  with 
the  Woodhouse  family,  and  feel  that  they  will  not 
amuse  and  interest  me  less  than  the  Bennets, 
Bertrams,  Norrises,  and  all  their  admirable  prede- 
cessors. I  can  give  them  no  higher  praise. 
I  am,  Madam,  your  much  obliged 

F.  MORLEY. 

Miss  J.  Austen  to  the  Countess  of  Morley. 

MADAM,  —  Accept  my  thanks  for  the  honor  of 
your  note,  and  for  your  kind  disposition  in  favor 
of  "Emma."  In  my  present  state  of  doubt  as  to 
her  reception  in  the  world,  it  is  particularly  grati- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  281 

fying  to  me  to  receive  so  early  an  assurance  of 
your  Ladyship's  approbation.  It  encourages  me 
to  depend  on  the  same  share  of  general  good 
opinion  which  " Emma's"  predecessors  have  ex- 
perienced, and  to  believe  that  I  have  not  yet,  as 
almost  every  writer  of  fancy  does  sooner  or  later, 
overwritten  myself. 

I  am,  Madam, 

Your  obliged  and  faithful  Serv*, 

J.  AUSTEN. 

December  31,  1815. 


282  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SLOW  GROWTH  OF   HER  FAME  —  ILL  SUCCESS    OF    FIRST 
ATTEMPTS   AT    PUBLICATION — Two    REVIEWS    OF  HER 

WORKS     CONTRASTED. 

SELDOM  has  any  literary  reputation  been  of  such 
slow  growth  as  that  of  Jane  Austen.  Readers  of 
the  present  day  know  the  rank  that  is  generally 
assigned  to  her.  They  have  been  told  by  Arch- 
bishop Whately,  in  his  review  of  her  works,  and 
by  Lord  Macaulay,  in  his  review  of  Madame 
D'Arblay's,  the  reason  why  the  highest  place  is  to 
be  awarded  to  Jane  Austen,  as  a  truthful  drawer 
of  character,  and  why  she  is  to  be  classed  with 
those  who  have  approached  nearest,  in  that  respect, 
to  the  great  master  Shakspeare.  They  see  her 
safely  placed,  by  such  authorities,  in  her  niche, 
not  indeed  amongst  the  highest  orders  of  genius, 
but  in  one  confessedly  her  own,  in  our  British 
temple  of  literary  fame;  and  it  may  be  difficult 
to  make  them  believe  how  coldly  her  works  were  at 
first  received,  and  how  few  readers  had  any  appre- 
ciation of  their  peculiar  merits.  Sometimes  a 
friend  or  neighbor,  who  chanced  to  know  of  our 
connection  with  the  author,  would  condescend  to 
speak  with  moderate  approbation  of  "  Sense  and 
Sensibility"  or  " Pride  and  Prejudice;"  but  if 
they  had  known  that  we,  in  our  secret  thoughts, 


A  MEMOIR   OF  JANE   AUSTEN.  283 

classed  her  with  Madame  D'Arblay  or  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  or  even  with  some  other  novel-writers  of  the 
day  whose  names  are  now  scarcely  remembered, 
they  would  have  considered  it  an  amusing  instance 
of  family  conceit.  To  the  multitude  her  works  ap- 
peared tame  and  commonplace,1  poor  in  coloring, 
and  sadly  deficient  in  incident  and  interest.  It  is 
true  that  we  were  sometimes  cheered  by  hearing 
that  a  different  verdict  had  been  pronounced  by 
more  competent  judges :  we  were  told  how  some  great 
statesman  or  distinguished  poet  held  these  works 
in  high  estimation;  we  had  the  satisfaction  of 
believing  that  they  were  most  admired  by  the  best 
judges,  and  comforted  ourselves  with  Horace's 
"  satis  est  Equitem  mihi  plaudere."  So  much  was 
this  the  case,  that  one  of  the  ablest  men  of  my 
acquaintance 2  said,  in  that  kind  of  jest  which  has 
much  earnest  in  it,  that  he  had  established  it  in 
his  own  mind  as  a  new  test  of  ability,  whether 
people  could  or  could  not  appreciate  Miss  Austen's 
merits. 

But  though  such  golden  opinions  were  now  and 

1  A  greater  genius  than  my  aunt  shared  with  her  the  impu- 
tation of  being  commonplace.    Leckhart,  speaking  of  the  low 
estimation  in  which  Scott's  conversational  powers  were  held 
in  the  literary  and  scientific  society  of  Edinburgh,  says :  "  I 
think  the  epithet  most  in  vogue  concerning  it  was   '  common- 
place.' "     He  adds,  however,  that  one  of  the  most  eminent  of 
that  society  was  of  a  different  opinion,  "who,  when  some 
glib  youth  chanced  to  echo  in  his  hearing  the  consolatory 
tenet  of  local  mediocrity,  answered  quietly,  '  1  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  think  differently  from  you.     In  my  humble  opin- 
ion Walter  Scott's  sense  is  a  still  more  wonderful  thing  than 
his  genius.'"  —  LOCKHART'S  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  chap.  v. 

2  The  late  Mr.  K.  H.  Cheney. 


284  A   MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

then  gathered  in,  yet  the  wide  field  of  public  taste 
yielded  no  adequate  return  either  in  praise  or 
profit.  Her  reward  was  not  to  be  the  quick  return  of 
the  cornfield,  but  the  slow  growth  of  the  tree  which 
is  to  endure  to  another  generation.  Her  first  at- 
tempts at  publication  were  very  discouraging.  In 
November,  1797,  her  father  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  Mr.  Cadell:  — 

SIR, —  I  have  in  my  possession  a  manuscript 
novel,  comprising  3  vols.,  about  the  length  of  Miss 
Burney's  "Evelina."  As  I  am  well  aware  of  what 
consequence  it  is  that  a  work  of  this  sort  shd  make 
its  first  appearance  under  a  respectable  name,  I 
apply  to  you.  I  shall  be  much  obliged  therefore  if 
you  will  inform  me  whether  you  choose  to  be  con- 
cerned in  it,  what  will  be  the  expense  of  publishing 
it  at  the  author's  risk,  and  what  you  will  venture  to 
advance  for  the  property  of  it,  if  on  perusal  it  is 
approved  of.  Should  you  give  any  encouragement, 
I  will  send  you  the  work. 

I  am,  Sir,  your  humble  Servant, 

GEORGE  AUSTEN. 

STEVENTON,  NEAR  OVERTON,  HANTS, 
1st  Nov.,  1797. 

This  proposal  was  declined  by  return  of  post! 
The  work  thus  summarily  rejected  must  have  been 
" Pride  and  Prejudice." 

The  fate  of  "Northaiiger  Abbey  "  was  still  more 
humiliating.  It  was  sold,  in  1803,  to  a  publisher 
in  Bath,  for  ten  pounds;  but  it  found  so  little 
fa^or  in  his  eyes  that  he  chose  to  abide  by  his 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  285 

first  loss  rather  than  risk  further  expense  by  pub- 
lishing such  a  work.  It  seems  to  have  lain  for 
many  years  unnoticed  in  his  drawers ;  somewhat  as 
the  first  chapters  of  "  Waverley"  lurked  forgotten 
amongst  the  old  fishing-tackle  in  Scott's  cabinet. 

Tilneys,  Thorpes,  and  Morlands  consigned  ap- 
parently to  eternal  oblivion !  But  when  four  novels 
of  steadily  increasing  success  had  given  the  writer 
some  confidence  in  herself,  she  wished  to  recover 
the  copyright  of  this  early  work.  One  of  her 
brothers  undertook  the  negotiation.  He  found  the 
purchaser  very  willing  to  receive  back  his  money, 
and  to  resign  all  claim  to  the  copyright.  When 
the  bargain  was  concluded  and  the  money  paid, 
but  not  till  then,  the  negotiator  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  informing  him  that  the  work  which  had 
been  so  lightly  esteemed  was  by  the  author  of 
" Pride  and  Prejudice."  I  do  not  think  that  she 
was  herself  much  mortified  by  the  want  of  early  suc- 
cess. She  wrote  for  her  own  amusement.  Money, 
though  acceptable,  was  not  necessary  for  the  mod- 
erate expenses  of  her  quiet  home.  Above  all,  she 
was  blessed  with  a  cheerful,  contented  disposition 
and  an  humble  mind;  and  so  lowly  did  she  esteem 
her  own  claims,  that  when  she  received  150£.  from 
the  sale  of  " Sense  and  Sensibility,"  she  con- 
sidered it  a  prodigious  recompense  for  that  which 
had  cost  her  nothing.  It  cannot  be  supposed,  how- 
ever, that  she  was  altogether  insensible  to  the 
superiority  of  her  own  workmanship  over  that  of 
some  contemporaries  who  were  then  enjoying  a 
brief  popularity.  Indeed  a  few  touches  in  the  fol- 
lowing extracts  from  two  of  her  letters  show  that 


286  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

she  was  as  quick-sighted  to  absurdities  in  compo- 
sition as  to  those  in  living  persons. 

"Mr.  C.'s  opinion  is  gone  down  in  my  list;  but 
as  my  paper  relates  only  to  '  Mansfield  Park, '  I 
may  fortunately  excuse  myself  from  entering  Mr. 
D.'s.  I  will  redeem  my  credit  with  him  by  writ- 
ing a  close  imitation  of  '  Self-Control, '  as  soon  as 
I  can.  I  will  improve  upon  it.  My  heroine  shall 
not  only  be  wafted  down  an  American  river  in  a 
boat  by  herself;  she  shall  cross  the  Atlantic  in 
the  same  way,  and  never  stop  till  she  reaches 
Gravesend. 

"We  have  got  'Rosanne'  in  our  Society,  and 
find  it  much  as  you  describe  it;  very  good  and 
clever,  but  tedious.  Mrs.  Hawkins'  great  excel- 
lence is  on  serious  subjects.  There  are  some  very 
delightful  conversations  and  reflections  on  religion : 
but  on  lighter  topics  I  think  she  falls  into  many 
absurdities;  and,  as  to  love,  her  heroine  has  very 
comical  feelings.  There  are  a  thousand  improba- 
bilities in  the  story.  Do  you  remember  the  two 
Miss  Ormsdens  introduced  just  at  last?  Very  flat 
and  unnatural.  MadeUe  Cossart  is  rather  my 
passion." 

Two  notices  of  her  works  appeared  in  the 
"Quarterly  Review,"  —  one  in  October,  1815,  and 
another,  more  than  three  years  after  her  death,  in 
January,  1821.  The  latter  article  is  known  to 
have  been  from  the  pen  of  Whately,  afterwards 
Archbishop  of  Dublin.1  They  differ  much  from 

1  Lockhart  had  supposed  that  this  article  had  been  written 
by  Scott,  because  it  exactly  accorded  with  the  opinions  which 
Scott  had  often  been  heard  to  express,  but  he  learned  after- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  287 

each  other  in  the  degree  of  praise  which  they 
award,  and  I  think  also  it  may  be  said,  in  the 
ability  with  which  they  are  written.  The  first 
bestows  some  approval,  but  the  other  expresses  the 
warmest  admiration.  One  can  scarcely  be  satisfied 
with  the  critical  acumen  of  the  former  writer,  who, 
in  treating  of  "  Sense  and  Sensibility,"  takes  no 
notice  whatever  of  the  vigor  with  which  many  of 
the  characters  are  drawn,  but  declares  that  "  the 
interest  and  merit  of  the  piece  depends  altogether 
upon  the  behavior  of  the  elder  sister !  "  Nor  is  he 
fair  when,  in  "  Pride  and  Prejudice, "  he  repre- 
sents Elizabeth's  change  of  sentiments  towards 
Darcy  as  caused  by  the  sight  of  his  house  and 
grounds.  But  the  chief  discrepancy  between  the 
two  reviewers  is  to  be  found  in  their  appreciation 
of  the  commonplace  and  silly  characters  to  be 
found  in  these  novels.  On  this  point  the  differ- 
ence almost  amounts  to  a  contradiction,  such  as 
one  sometimes  sees  drawn  up  in  parallel  columns, 
when  it  is  desired  to  convict  some  writer  or  some 
statesman  of  inconsistency.  The  Eeviewer  in 
1815  says:  "The  faults  of  these  works  arise  from 
the  minute  detail  which  the  author's  plan  compre- 
hends. Characters  of  folly  or  simplicity,  such  as 
those  of  old  Woodhouse  and  Miss  Bates,  are  ridicu- 
lous when  first  presented,  but  if  too  often  brought 

wards  that  it  had  been  written  by  Whately ;  and  Lockhart, 
who  became  the  Editor  of  the  Quarterly,  must  have  had  the 
means  of  knowing  the  truth.  (See  Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,"  vol.  v.  p.  158.)  I  remember  that,  at  the  time 
when  the  review  came  out,  it  was  reported  in  Oxford  that 
Whately  had  written  the  article  at  the  request  of  the  lady 
whom  he  afterwards  married. 


288  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

forward,  or  too  long  dwelt  on,  their  prosing  is  apt 
to  become  as  tiresome  in  fiction  as  in  real  society." 
The  Keviewer  in  1821,  on  the  contrary,  singles 
out  the  fools  as  especial  instances  of  the  writers 
abilities,  and  declares  that  in  this  respect  she 
shows  a  regard  to  character  hardly  exceeded  by 
Shakspeare  himself.  These  are  his  words:  "  Like 
him  (Shakspeare)  she  shows  as  admirable  a  discrim- 
ination in  the  character  of  fools  as  of  people  of 
sense,  a  merit  which  is  far  from  common.  To 
invent  indeed  a  conversation  full  of  wisdom  or  of 
wit  requires  that  the  writer  should  himself  possess 
ability ;  but  the  converse  does  not  hold  good,  it  is 
no  fool  that  can  describe  fools  well ;  and  many  who 
have  succeeded  pretty  well  in  painting  superior 
characters  have  failed  in  giving  individuality  to 
those  weaker  ones  which  it  is  necessary  to  intro- 
duce in  order  to  give  a  faithful  representation  of 
real  life:  they  exhibit  to  us  mere  folly  in  the 
abstract,  forgetting  that  to  the  eye  of  the  skilful 
naturalist  the  insects  on  a  leaf  present  as  wide 
differences  as  exist  between  the  lion  and  the  ele- 
phant. Slender,  and  Shallow,  and  Aguecheek,  as 
Shakspeare  has  painted  them,  though  equally  fools, 
resemble  one  another  no  more  than  Kichard,  and 
Macbeth,  and  Julius  Csesar;  and  Miss  Austen's  l 
Mrs.  Bennet,  Mr.  Rushworth,  and  Miss  Bates  are 
no  more  alike  than  her  Darcy,  Knightley,  and 
Edmund  Bertram.  Some  have  complained  indeed 
of  finding  her  fools  too  much  like  nature,  and  con- 
sequently tiresome.  There  is  no  disputing  about 

1  In  transcribing  this  passage  I  have  taken  the  liberty  so 
far  to  correct  it  as  to  spell  her  name  properly  with  an  "  e." 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  289 

tastes;  all  we  can  say  is,  that  such  critics  must 
(whatever  deference  they  may  outwardly  pay  to 
received  opinions)  find  the  ( Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor  '  and  '  Twelfth  Night '  very  tiresome ; 
and  that  those  who  look  with  pleasure  at  Wilkie's 
picture,  or  those  of  the  Dutch  school,  must  admit 
that  excellence  of  imitation  may  confer  attraction 
on  that  which  would  be  insipid  or  disagreeable  in 
the  reality.  Her  minuteness  of  detail  has  also 
been  found  fault  with ;  but  even  where  it  produces, 
at  the  time,  a  degree  of  tediousness,  we  know  not 
whether  that  can  justly  be  reckoned  a  blemish 
which  is  absolutely  essential  to  a  very  high  excel- 
lence. Now  it  is  absolutely  impossible,  without 
this,  to  produce  that  thorough  acquaintance  with 
the  characters  which  is  necessary  to  make  the 
reader  heartily  interested  in  them.  Let  any  one 
cut  out  from  the  '  Iliad '  or  from  Shakspeare's 
plays  everything  (we  are  far  from  saying  that 
either  might  not  lose  some  parts  with  advantage, 
but  let  him  reject  everything)  which  is  absolutely 
devoid  of  importance  and  interest  in  itself;  and  he 
will  find  that  what  is  left  will  have  lost  more  than 
half  its  charms.  We  are  convinced  that  some 
writers  have  diminished  the  effect  of  their  works 
by  being  scrupulous  to  admit  nothing  into  them 
which  had  not  some  absolute  and  independent 
merit.  They  have  acted  like  those  who  strip  off 
the  leaves  of  a  fruit  tree,  as  being  of  themselves 
good  for  nothing,  with  the  view  of  securing  more 
nourishment  to  the  fruit,  which  in  fact  cannot 
attain  its  full  maturity  and  flavor  without  them." 
The  world,  I  think,  has  endorsed  the  opinion  of 
19 


290  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

the  later  writer;  but  it  would  not  be  fair  to  set 
down  the  discrepancy  between  the  two  entirely  to 
the  discredit  of  the  former.  The  fact  is  that,  in 
the  course  of  the  intervening  five  years,  these 
works  had  been  read  and  reread  by  many  leaders 
in  the  literary  world.  The  public  taste  was  form- 
ing itself  all  this  time,  and  "grew  by  what  it  fed 
on."  These  novels  belong  to  a  class  which  gain 
rather  than  lose  by  frequent  perusals,  and  it  is 
probable  that  each  Reviewer  represented  fairly 
enough  the  prevailing  opinions  of  readers  in  the 
year  when  each  wrote. 

Since  that  time  the  testimonies  in  favor  of  Jane 
Austen's  works  have  been  continual  and  almost 
unanimous.  They  are  frequently  referred  to  as  mod- 
els :  nor  have  they  lost  their  first  distinction  of  be- 
ing especially  acceptable  to  minds  of  the  highest 
order.  I  shall  indulge  myself  by  collecting  into 
the  next  chapter  instances  of  the  homage  paid  to 
her  by  such  persons. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  291 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OPINIONS  EXPRESSED  BY  EMINENT  PERSONS  —  OPINIONS  OF 
OTHERS  OP  LESS  EMINENCE  —  OPINION  OF  AMERICAN 
READERS. 

INTO  this  list  of  the  admirers  of  my  aunt's  works 
I  admit  those  only  whose  eminence  will  be  uni- 
versally acknowledged.  No  doubt  the  number 
might  have  been  increased. 

Southey,  in  a  letter  to  Sir  Egerton  Brydges, 
says:  "You  mention  Miss  Austen.  Her  novels 
are  more  true  to  nature,  and  have,  for  my  sympa- 
thies, passages  of  finer  feeling  than  any  others  of 
this  age.  She  was  a  person  of  whom  I  have  heard 
so  well  and  think  so  highly  that  I  regret  not  hav- 
ing had  an  opportunity  of  testifying  to  her  the 
respect  which  I  felt  for  her/' 

It  may  be  observed  that  Southey  had  probably 
heard  from  his  own  family  connections  of  the 
charm  of  her  private  character.  A  friend  of  hers, 
the  daughter  of  Mr.  Bigge  Wither,  of  Manydown 
Park  near  Basingstoke,  was  married  to  Southey  ?s 
uncle,  the  Eev.  Herbert  Hill,  who  had  been  useful 
to  his  nephew  in  many  ways,  and  especially  in 
supplying  him  with  the  means  of  attaining  his 
extensive  knowledge  of  Spanish  and  Portuguese 
literature.  Mr.  Hill  had  been  Chaplain  to  the 
British  Factory  at  Lisbon,  where  Southey  visited 
him  and  had  the  use  of  a  library  in  those  languages 
which  his  uncle  had  collected.  Southey  himself 


292  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

continually  mentions  his  Uncle  Hill  in  terms  of 
respect  and  gratitude. 

S.  T.  Coleridge  would  sometimes  burst  out  into 
high  encomiums  of  Miss  Austen's  novels  as  being, 
"  in  their  way,  perfectly  genuine  and  individual 
productions. " 

I  remember  Miss  Mitford's  saying  tome:  "I 
would  almost  cut  off  one  of  my  hands,  if  it  would 
enable  me  to  write  like  your  aunt  with  the  other." 

The  biographer  of  Sir  J.  Mackintosh  says: 
"  Something  recalled  to  his  mind  the  traits  of 
character  which  are  so  delicately  touched  in  Miss 
Austen's  novels.  ...  He  said  that  there  was  genius 
in  sketching  out  that  new  kind  of  novel.  .  .  .  He 
was  vexed  for  the  credit  of  the  <  Edinburgh  Ke- 
view  '  that  it  had  left  her  unnoticed.1  .  .  .  '  The 
Quarterly  '  had  done  her  more  justice.  ...  It  was 
impossible  for  a  foreigner  to  understand  fully  the 
merit  of  her  works.  Madame  de  Stael,  to  whom 
he  had  recommended  one  of  her  novels,  found  no 
interest  in  it-,  and  in  her  note  to  him  in  reply 
said  it  was  '  vulgaire;'  and  yet,  he  said,  nothing 
could  be  more  true  than  what  he  wrote  in  answer : 
*  There  is  no  book  which  that  word  would  so  lit- 
tle suit.'  ,  .  .  Every  village  could  furnish  matter 
for  a  novel  to  Miss  Austen.  She  did  not  need  the 
common  materials  for  a  novel,  strong  emotions  or 
strong  incidents."  2 

It  was  not,   however,   quite  impossible  for  a  for- 

1  Incidentally    she    had  received    high  praise  in    Lord 
Macaulay's    Review  of  Madame  D'Arblay's   Works  in  the 
"  Edinburgh." 

2  Life  of  Sir  J.  Mackintosh,  vol.  ii.  p.  472, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  293 

eigner  to  appreciate  these  works;  forMons.  Guizot 
writes  thus:  "I  am  a  great  novel-reader,  but  I  sel- 
dom read  German  or  French  novels.  The  charac- 
ters are  too  artificial.  My  delight  is  to  read  Eng- 
lish novels,  particularly  those  written  hy  women. 
'  C'est  toute  une  4cole  de  morale.'  Miss  Austen, 
Miss  Ferrier,  etc.,  form  a  school  which  in  the 
excellence  and  profusion  of  its  productions  re- 
semhles  the  cloud  of  dramatic  poets  of  the  great 
Athenian  age." 

In  the  "  Keepsake  "  of  1825  the  following  lines 
appeared,  written  by  Lord  Morpeth,  afterwards 
seventh  Earl  of  Carlisle,  and  Lord-Lieutenant  of 
Ireland,  accompanying  an  illustration  of  a  lady 
reading  a  novel :  — 

Beats  thy  quick  pulse  o'er  Inchbald's  thrilling  leaf, 

Brunton's  high  moral,  Opie's  deep-wrought  grief  ? 

Has  the  mild  chaperon  claimed  thy  yielding  heart, 

Carroll's  dark  page,  Trevelyan's  gentle  art  ? 

Or  is  it  thou,  all-perfect  Austen  ?     Here 

Let  one  poor  wreath  adorn  thy  early  bier, 

That  scarce  allowed  thy  modest  youth  to  claim 

Its  living  portion  of  thy  certain  fame  ! 

Oh  !  Mrs.  Bennet !  Mrs.  Norris  too  ! 

While  memory  survives  we  '11  dream  of  you. 

And  Mr.  Woodhouse,  whose  abstemious  lip 

Must  thin,  but  not  too  thin,  his  gruel  sip. 

Miss  Bates,  our  idol,  though  the  village  bore ; 

And  Mrs.  Elton,  ardent  to  explore. 

While  the  dear  style  flows  on  without  pretence, 

With  unstained  purity,  and  unmatched  sense  : 

Or,  if  a  sister  e'er  approached  the  throne, 

She  called  the  rich  "  inheritance  "  her  own. 

The  admiration  felt  by  Lord  Macaulay  would 
probably  have  taken  a  very  practical  form,  if  his 


294  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

life  had  been  prolonged.  I  have  the  authority  of 
his  sister,  Lady  Trevelyan,  for  stating  that  he  had 
intended  to  undertake  the  task  upon  which  I  have 
ventured.  He  purposed  to  write  a  memoir  of  Miss 
Austen,  with  criticisms  on  her  works,  to  prefix  it  to 
a  new  edition  of  her  novels,  and  from  the  proceeds 
of  the  sale  to  erect  a  monument  to  her  memory  in 
Winchester  Cathedral.  Oh  that  such  an  idea  had 
been  realized!  That  portion  of  the  plan  in  which 
Lord  Macaulay's  success  would  have  been  most 
certain  might  have  been  almost  sufficient  for  his 
object.  A  memoir  written  by  him  would  have 
been  a  monument. 

I  am  kindly  permitted  by  Sir  Henry  Holland 
to  give  the  following  quotation  from  his  printed 
but  unpublished  recollections  of  his  past  life:  — 

"I  have  the  picture  still  before  me  of  Lord 
Holland  lying  on  his  bed,  when  attacked  with 
gout,  his  admirable  sister,  Miss  Fox,  beside  him 
reading  aloud,  as  she  always  did  on  these  occa- 
sions, some  one  of  Miss  Austen's  novels,  of  which 
he  was  never  wearied.  I  well  recollect  the  time 
when  these  charming  novels,  almost  unique  in 
their  style  of  humor,  burst  suddenly  on  the  world. 
It  was  sad  that  their  writer  did  not  live  to  witness 
the  growth  of  her  fame." 

My  brother-in-law,  Sir  Denis  Le  Marchant,  has 
supplied  me  with  the  following  anecdotes  from 
his  own  recollections :  — 

"When  I  was  a  student  at  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  Mr.  Whewell,  then  a  Fellow  and  after- 
wards Master  of  the  College,  often  spoke  to  me 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  295 

with  admiration  of  Miss  Austen's  novels.  On  one 
occasion  I  said  that  I  had  found  '  Persuasion ' 
rather  dull.  He  quite  fired  up  in  defence  of  it, 
insisting  that  it  was  the  most  beautiful  of  her 
works.  This  accomplished  philosopher  was  deeply 
versed  in  works  of  fiction.  I  recollect  his  writing 
to  me  from  Caernarvon,  where  he  had  the  charge 
of  some  pupils,  that  he  was  weary  of  his  stay, 
for  he  had  read  the  circulating  library  twice 
through. 

"During  a  visit  I  paid  to  Lord  Lansdowne,  at 
Bowood,  in  1846,  one  of  Miss  Austen's  novels  be- 
came the  subject  of  conversation  and  of  praise, 
especially  from  Lord  Lansdowne,  who  observed 
that  one  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life  which  he 
looked  back  upon  with  vexation  was  that  Miss 
Austen  should  once  have  been  living  some  weeks 
in  his  neighborhood  without  his  knowing  it. 

"  I  have  heard  Sydney  Smith,  more  than  once, 
dwell  with  eloquence  on  the  merits  of  Miss  Aus- 
ten's novels.  He  told  me  he  should  have  enjoyed 
giving  her  the  pleasure  of  reading  her  praises  in 
the  l  Edinburgh  Eeview. '  '  Fanny  Price  '  was 
one  of  his  prime  favorites." 

I  close  this  list  of  testimonies,  this  long  "  Ca- 
tena Patrum,"  with  the  remarkable  words  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  taken  from  his  diary  for  March  14, 
1826:  *  "Read  again,  for  the  third  time  at  least, 
Miss  Austen's  finely  written  novel  of  t  Pride  and 
Prejudice. '  That  young  lady  had  a  talent  for  de- 
scribing the  involvements  and  feelings  and  charac- 
ters of  ordinary  life,  which  is  to  me  the  most 
1  Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Scott,"  vol.  vi.  chap.  vii. 


296  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

wonderful  I  ever  met  with.  The  big  Bow- Wow 
strain  I  can  do  myself  like  any  now  going  ;  but 
the  exquisite  touch  which  renders  ordinary  com- 
monplace things  and  characters  interesting  from 
the  truth  of  the  description  and  the  sentiment  is 
denied  to  me.  What  a  pity  such  a  gifted  creat- 
ure died  so  early!  "  The  well-worn  condition  of 
Scott's  own  copy  of  these  works  attests  that  they 
were  much  read  in  his  family.  When  I  visited 
Abbotsford,  a  few  years  after  Scott's  death,  I  was 
permitted,  as  an  unusual  favor,  to  take  one  of 
these  volumes  in  my  hands.  One  cannot  suppress 
the  wish  that  she  had  lived  to  know  what  such 
men  thought  of  her  powers,  and  how  gladly  they 
would  have  cultivated  a  personal  acquaintance 
with  her.  I  do  not  think  that  it  would  at  all 
have  impaired  the  modest  simplicity  of  her  charac- 
ter; or  that  we  should  have  lost  our  own  dear 
"Aunt  Jane  "  in  the  blaze  of  literary  fame. 

•It  may  be  amusing  to  contrast  with  these 
testimonies  from  the  great,  the  opinions  expressed 
by  other  readers  of  more  ordinary  intellect.  The 
author  herself  has  left  a  list  of  criticisms  which 
it  had  been  her  amusement  to  collect,  through 
means  of  her  friends.  This  list  contains  much  of 
warm-hearted  sympathizing  praise,  interspersed 
with  some  opinions  which  may  be  considered 
surprising. 

One  lady  could  say  nothing  better  of  "  Mans- 
field Park  "  than  that  it  was  "  a  mere  novel." 

Another  owned  that  she  thought  "Sense  and 
Sensibility"  and  "Pride  and  Prejudice7'  down- 
right nonsense;  but  expected  to  like  "Mansfield 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  297 

Park"  better,  and  having  finished  the  first  vol- 
ume, hoped  that  she  had  got  through  the  worst. 

Another  did  not  like  "  Mansfield  Park. "  Noth- 
ing interesting  in  the  characters.  Language  poor. 

One  gentleman  read  the  first  and  last  chapters 
of  "Emma,"  but  did  not  look  at  the  rest,  because 
he  had  been  told  that  it  was  not  interesting. 

The  opinions  of  another  gentleman  about 
' '  Emma ' '  were  so  bad  that  they  could  not  be 
reported  to  the  author. 

"  Quot  homines,  tot  sententise." 

Thirty-five  years  after  her  death  there  came 
also  a  voice  of  praise  from  across  the  Atlantic. 
In  1852  the  following  letter  was  received  by  her 
brother,  Sir  Francis  Austen:  — 

BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS.  U.  S.  A., 
6th  Jan.,  1852. 

Since  high  critical  authority  has  pronounced  the 
delineations  of  character  in  the  works  of  Jane 
Austen  second  only  to  those  of  Shakspeare,  transat- 
lantic admiration  appears  superfluous;  yet  it  may 
not  be  uninteresting  to  her  family  to  receive  an  as- 
surance that  the  influence  of  her  genius  is  exten- 
sively recognized  in  the  American  Republic,  even 
by  the  highest  judicial  authorities.  The  late  Mr. 
Chief  Justice  Marshall,  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States,  and  his  associate  Mr.  Justice 
Story,  highly  estimated  and  admired  Miss  Austen, 
and  to  them  we  owe  our  introduction  to  her  so- 
ciety. For  many  years  her  talents  have  bright- 
ened our  daily  path,  and  her  name  and  those  of 
her  characters  are  familiar  to  us  as  * '  household 


298  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

words."  We  have  long  wished  to  express  to  some 
of  her  family  the  sentiments  of  gratitude  and 
affection  she  has  inspired,  and  request  more  infor- 
mation relative  to  her  life  than  is  given  in  the 
brief  memoir  prefixed  to  her  works. 

Having  accidental!}'  heard  that  a  brother  of 
Jane  Austen  held  a  high  rank  in  the  British  Navy, 
we  have  obtained  his  address  from  our  friend 
Admiral  Wormley,  now  resident  in  Boston,  and 
we  trust  this  expression  of  our  feeling  will  be  re- 
ceived by  her  relations  with  the  kindness  and 
urbanity  characteristic  of  Admirals  of  her  creation. 
Sir  Francis  Austen,  or  one  of  his  family,  would 
confer  a  great  favor  by  complying  with  our  request. 
The  autograph  of  his  sister,  or  a  few  lines  in  her 
handwriting,  would  be  placed  among  our  chief 
treasures. 

The  family  who  delight  in  the  companionship 
of  Jane  Austen,  and  who  present  this  petition,  are 
of-  English  origin.  Their  ancestor  held  a  high 
rank  among  the  first  emigrants  to  New  England, 
and  his  name  and  character  have  been  ably  repre- 
sented by  his  descendants  in  various  public  sta- 
tions of  trust  and  responsibility  to  the  present 
time  in  the  colony  and  State  of  Massachusetts.  A 
letter  addressed  to  Miss  Quincy,  care  of  the 
Honble  Josiah  Quincy,  Boston,  Massachusetts, 
would  reach  its  destination. 

Sir  Francis  Austen  returned  a  suitable  reply  to 
this  application;  and  sent  a  long  letter  of  his 
sister's,  which,  no  doubt,  still  occupies  the  place 
of  honor  promised  by  the  Quincy  family. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  299 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  NOVELS. 

IT  is  not  the  object  of  these  memoirs  to  attempt 
a  criticism  on  Jane  Austen's  novels.  Those  partic- 
ulars only  have  been  noticed  which  could  be  illus- 
trated by  the  circumstances  of  her  own  life;  but 
I  now  desire  to  offer  a  few  observations  on  them, 
and  especially  on  one  point,  on  which  my  age  ren- 
ders me  a  competent  witness,  —  the  fidelity  with 
which  they  represent  the  opinions  and  manners  of 
the  class  of  society  in  which  the  author  lived,  early 
in  this  century.  They  do  this  the  more  faithfully 
on  account  of  the  very  deficiency  with  which  they 
have  been  sometimes  charged,  —  namely,  that  they 
make  no  attempt  to  raise  the  standard  of  human 
life,  but  merely  represent  it  as  it  was.  They  cer- 
tainly were  not  written  to  support  any  theory  or 
inculcate  any  particular  moral,  except  indeed  the 
great  moral  which  is  to  be  equally  gathered  from 
an  observation  of  the  course  of  actual  life,  — 
namely,  the  superiority  of  high  over  low  princi- 
ples, and  of  greatness  over  littleness  of  mind. 
These  writings  are  like  photographs,  in  which  no 
feature  is  softened;  no  ideal  expression  is  intro- 
duced, all  is  the  unadorned  reflection  of  the  natural 
object;  and  the  value  of  such  a  faithful  likeness 
must  increase  as  time  gradually  works  more  and 


300  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN, 

more  changes  in  the  face  of  society  itself.  A  re- 
markable instance  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  her 
portraiture  of  the  clergy.  She  was  the  daughter 
and  the  sister  of  clergymen,  who  certainly  were 
not  low  specimens  of  their  order,  and  she  has 
chosen  three  of  her  heroes  from  that  profession; 
but  no  one  in  these  days  can  think  that  either 
Edmund  Bertram  or  Henry  Tilney  had  adequate 
ideas  of  the  duties  of  a  parish  minister.  Such, 
however,  were  the  opinions  and  practice  then  prev- 
alent among  respectable  and  conscientious  clergy- 
men before  their  minds  had  been  stirred,  first  by 
the  Evangelical  and  afterwards  by  the  High- 
Church  movement  which  this  century  has  wit- 
nessed. The  country  may  be  congratulated  which, 
on  looking  back  to  such  a  fixed  landmark,  can  find 
that  it  has  been  advancing  instead  of  receding 
from  it. 

The  long  interval  that  elapsed  between  the  com- 
pletion of  "Northanger  Abbey  "  in  1798  and  the 
commencement  of  "  Mansfield  Park7'  in  1811 
may  sufficiently  account  for  any  difference  of  style 
which  may  be  perceived  between  her  three  earlier 
and  her  three  later  productions.  If  the  former 
showed  quite  as  much  originality  and  genius,  they 
may  perhaps  be  thought  to  have  less  of  the  fault- 
less finish  and  high  polish  which  distinguish  the 
latter.  The  characters  of  the  John  Dashwoods, 
Mr.  Collins,  and  the  Thorpes  stand  out  from  the 
canvas  with  a  vigor  and  originality  which  cannot 
be  surpassed;  but  I  think  that  in  her  last  three 
works  are  to  be  found  a  greater  refinement  of  taste, 
a  more  nice  sense  of  propriety,  and  a  deeper  in- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  301 

sight  into  the  delicate  anatomy  of  the  human 
heart,  marking  the  difference  between  the  brilliant 
girl  and  the  mature  woman.  Far  from  being  one 
of  those  who  have  over-written  themselves,  it  may 
be  affirmed  that  her  fame  would  have  stood  on  a 
narrower  and  less  firm  basis  if  she  had  not  lived 
to  resume  her  pen  at  Chawton. 

Some  persons  have  surmised  that  she  took  her 
characters  from  individuals  with  whom  she  had 
been  acquainted.  They  were  so  lifelike  that  it 
was  assumed  that  they  must  once  have  lived,  and 
have  been  transferred  bodily,  as  it  were,  into  her 
pages.  But  surely  such  a  supposition  betrays  an 
ignorance  of  the  high  prerogative  of  genius  to 
create  out  of  its  own  resources  imaginary  charac- 
ters, who  shall  be  true  to  nature  and  consistent  in 
themselves.  Perhaps,  however,  the  distinction 
between  keeping  true  to  nature  and  servilely 
copying  any  one  specimen  of  it  is  not  always 
clearly  apprehended.  It  is  indeed  true,  both  of 
the  writer  and  of  the  painter,  that  he  can  use  only 
such  lineaments  as  exist,  and  as  he  has  observed 
to  exist,  in  living  objects;  otherwise  he  would  pro- 
duce monsters  instead  of  human  beings;  but  in 
both  it  is  the  office  of  high  art  to  mould  these 
features  into  new  combinations,  and  to  place  them 
in  the  attitudes  and  impart  to  them  the  expressions 
which  may  suit  the  purposes  of  the  artist;  so  that 
they  are  nature,  but  not  exactly  the  same  nature 
which  had  come  before  his  eyes;  just  as  honey  can 
be  obtained  only  from  the  natural  flowers  which 
the  bee  has  sucked;  yet  it  is  not  a  reproduction  of 
the  odor  or  flavor  of  any  particular  flower,  but  be- 


302  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

comes  something  different  when  it  has  gone 
through  the  process  of  transformation  which  that 
little  insect  is  able  to  effect.  Hence,  in  the  case 
of  painters,  arises  the  superiority  of  original  com- 
positions over  portrait-painting.  Reynolds  was 
exercising  a  higher  faculty  when  he  designed 
Comedy  and  Tragedy  contending  for  Garrick,  than 
when  he  merely  took  a  likeness  of  that  actor.  The 
same  difference  exists  in  writings  between  the 
original  conceptions  of  Shakspeare  and  some  other 
creative  geniuses,  and  such  full-length  likenesses 
of  individual  persons,  "The  Talking  Gentleman" 
for  instance,  as  are  admirably  drawn  by  Miss 
Mitford.  Jane  Austen's  powers,  whatever  may  be 
the  degree  in  which  she  possessed  them,  were  cer- 
tainly of  that  higher  order.  She  did  not  copy 
individuals,  but  she  invested  her  own  creations 
with  individuality  of  character.  A  reviewer  in  the 
"Quarterly"  speaks  of  an  acquaintance  who,  ever 
since  the  publication  of  "Pride  and  Prejudice," 
had  been  called  by  his  friends  Mr.  Bennet,  but  the 
author  did  not  know  him.  Her  own  relations 
never  recognized  any  individual  in  her  characters; 
and  I  can  call  to  mind  several  of  her  acquaintance, 
whose  peculiarities  were  very  tempting  and  easy  to 
be  caricatured,  of  whom  there  are  no  traces  in  her 
pages.  She  herself,  when  questioned  on  the  sub- 
ject by  a  friend,  expressed  a  dread  of  what  she 
called  such  an  "invasion  of  social  proprieties." 
She  said  that  she  thought  it  quite  fair  to  note 
peculiarities  and  weaknesses,  but  that  it  was  her 
desire  to  create,  not  to  reproduce;  "besides,"  she 
added,  "I  am  too  proud  of  my  gentlemen  to  admit 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  303 

that  they  were  only  Mr.  A.  or  Colonel  B."  She 
did  not,  however,  suppose  that  her  imaginary 
characters  were  of  a  higher  order  than  are  to  he 
found  in  nature;  for  she  said,  when  speaking  of 
two  of  her  great  favorites,  Edmund  Bertram  and 
Mr.  Knightley :  ' '  They  are  very  far  from  heing 
what  I  know  English  gentlemen  often  are." 

She  certainly  took  a  kind  of  parental  interest  in 
the  beings  whom  she  had  created,  and  did  not  dis- 
miss them  from  her  thoughts  when  she  had  finished 
her  last  chapter.  We  have  seen,  in  one  of  her  let- 
ters, her  personal  affection  for  Darcy  and  Elizabeth ; 
and  when  sending  a  copy  of  "Emma"  to  a  friend 
whose  daughter  had  been  lately  born,  she  wrote 
thus:  "I  trust  you  will  be  as  glad  to  see  my 
'Emma  '  as  I  shall  be  to  see  your  Jemima."  She 
was  very  fond  of  Emma,  but  did  not  reckon  on 
her  being  a  general  favorite;  for,  when  commenc- 
ing that  work,  she  said,  "I  am  going  to  take  a 
heroine  whom  no  one  but  myself  will  much  like." 
She  would,  if  asked,  tell  us  many  little  particulars 
about  the  subsequent  career  of  some  of  her  people. 
In  this  traditionary  way  we  learned  that  Miss  Steele 
never  succeeded  in  catching  the  Doctor ;  that  Kitty 
Bennet  was  satisfactorily  married  to  a  clergyman 
near  Pemberley,  while  Mary  obtained  nothing 
higher  than  one  of  her  uncle  Philip's  clerks,  and 
was  content  to  be  considered  a  star  in  the  society 
of  Meriton;  that  the  " considerable  sum"  given 
by  Mrs.  Norris  to  William  Price  was  one  pound; 
that  Mr.  Woodhouse  survived  his  daughter's  mar- 
riage, and  kept  her  and  Mr.  Knightley  from  set- 
tling at  Donwell,  about  two  years;  and  that  the 


304  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

letters  placed  by  Frank  Churchill  before  Jane  Fair- 
fax, which  she  swept  away  unread,  contained  the 
word  "  pardon."  Of  the  good  people  in  "  North- 
anger  Abbey"  and  "Persuasion"  we  know  noth- 
ing more  than  what  is  written;  for  before  those 
works  were  published  their  author  had  been  taken 
away  from  us,  and  all  such  amusing  communica- 
tions had  ceased  forever. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  305 


CHAPTEB  X. 

DECLINING  HEALTH  OP  JANE  AUSTEN  —  ELASTICITY  OF 
HER  SPIRITS  —  HER  RESIGNATION  AND  HUMILITY  — HER 
DEATH. 

EARLY  in  the  year  1816  some  family  troubles  dis- 
turbed the  usually  tranquil  course  of  Jane  Austen's 
life;  and  it  is  probable  that  the  inward  malady, 
which  was  to  prove  ultimately  fatal,  was  already 
felt  by  her;  for  some  distant  friends,1  whom  she 
visited  in  the  spring  of  that  year,  thought  that 
her  health  was  somewhat  impaired,  and  observed 
that  she  went  about  her  old  haunts  and  recalled 
old  recollections  connected  with  them  in  a  particu- 
lar manner,  as  if  she  did  not  expect  ever  to  see 
them  again.  It  is  not  surprising  that,  under  these 
circumstances,  some  of  her  letters  were  of  a  graver 
tone  than  had  been  customary  with  her,  and  ex- 
pressed resignation  rather  than  cheerfulness.  In 
reference  to  these  troubles  in  a  letter  to  her  brother 
Charles,  after  mentioning  that  she  had  been  laid  up 
with  an  attack  of  bilious  fever,  she  says:  "I  live 
upstairs  for  the  present,  and  am  coddled.  I  am 
the  only  one  of  the  party  who  has  been  so  silly, 
but  a  weak  body  must  excuse  weak  nerves/'  And 
again  to  another  correspondent:  "But  I  am  get- 
ting too  near  complaint;  it  has  been  the  appoint- 
ment of  God,  however  secondary  causes  may  have 

1  The  Fowles,  of  Kintbury,  in  Berkshire. 
20 


306  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

operated."  But  the  elasticity  of  her  spirits  soon 
recovered  their  tone.  It  was  in  the  latter  half  of 
that  year  that  she  addressed  the  two  following 
lively  letters  to  a  nephew,  one  while  he  was  at 
Winchester  School,  the  other  soon  after  he  had 
left  it:  — 

CHAWTON,  July  9,  1816. 

MY  DEAR  E., — Many  thanks.  A  thank  for 
every  line,  and  as  many  to  Mr.  W.  Digweed  for 
coming.  We  have  been  wanting  very  much  to 
hear  of  your  mother,  and  are  happy  to  find  she 
continues  to  mend,  but  her  illness  must  have  been 
a  very  serious  one  indeed.  When  she  is  really 
recovered,  she  ought  to  try  change  of  air,  and  come 
over  to  us.  Tell  your  father  that  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  him  for  his  share  of  your  letter,  and 
most  sincerely  join  in  the  hope  of  her  being  event- 
ually much  the  better  for  her  present  discipline. 
She  has  the  comfort,  moreover,  of  being  confined  in 
such  weather  as  gives  one  little  temptation  to  be 
out.  It  is  really  too  bad,  and  has  been  too  bad  for 
a  long  time,  much  worse  than  any  one  can  bear, 
and  I  begin  to  think  it  will  never  be  fine  again. 
This  is  a  finesse  of  mine,  for  I  have  often  observed 
that  if  one  writes  about  the  weather,  it  is  generally 
completely  changed  before  the  letter  is  read.  I 
wish  it  may  prove  so  now,  and  that  when  Mr.  W. 
Digweed  reaches  Steve nton  to-morrow,  he  may 
find  you  have  had  a  long  series  of  hot  dry  weather. 
We  are  a  small  party  at  present,  only  grand- 
mamma, Mary  Jane,  and  myself.  Yalden's  coach 
cleared  off  the  rest  yesterday.  I  am  glad  you 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  307 

recollected  to  mention  your  being  come  home.1  My 
heart  began  to  sink  within  me  when  I  had  got  so 
far  through  your  letter  without  its  being  men- 
tioned. I  was  dreadfully  afraid  that  you  might 
be  detained  at  Winchester  by  severe  illness,  con- 
fined to  your  bed  perhaps,  and  quite  unable  to 
hold  a  pen,  and  only  dating  from  Steventon  in 
order,  with  a  mistaken  sort  of  tenderness,  to 
deceive  me.  But  now  I  have  no  doubt  of  your 
being  at  home.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  say  it  so 
seriously  unless  it  actually  were  so.  We  saw  a 
countless  number  of  post-chaises  full  of  boys  pass 
by  yesterday  morning,2  full  of  future  heroes,  legis- 
lators, fools,  and  villains.  You  have  never  thanked 
me  for  my  last  letter,  which  went  by  the  cheese. 
I  cannot  bear  not  to  be  thanked.  You  will  not 
pay  us  a  visit  yet  of  course;  we  must  not  think  of 
it.  Your  mother  must  get  well  first,  and  you 
must  go  to  Oxford  and  not  be  elected;  after  that  a 
little  change  of  scene  may  be  good  for  you,  and 
your  physicians,  I  hope,  will  order  you  to  the  sea, 
or  to  a  house  by  the  side  of  a  very  considerable 
pond.3  Oh!  it  rains  again.  It  beats  against  the 
window.  Mary  Jane  and  I  have  been  wet  through 
once  already  to-day;  we  set  off  in  the  donkey- 

1  It  seems  that  her  young  correspondent,  after  dating  from 
his  home,  had  been  so  superfluous  as  to  state  in  his  letter  that 
he  was  returned  home,  and  thus  to  have  drawn  on  himself 
this  banter. 

2  The  road  by  which  many  Winchester  boys  returned  home 
ran  close  to  Chawton  Cottage. 

8  There  was,  though  it  exists  no  longer,  a  pond  close  to 
Chawton  Cottage,  at  the  junction  of  the  Winchester  and 
Gosport  roads. 


308  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

carriage  for  Farringdon,  as  I  wanted  to  see  the 
improvement  Mr.  Woolls  is  making;  but  we  were 
obliged  to  turn  back  before  we  got  there,  but  not 
soon  enough  to  avoid  a  pelter  all  the  way  home. 
We  met  Mr.  Woolls.  I  talked  of  its  being  bad 
weather  for  the  hay,  and  he  returned  me  the  com- 
fort of  its  being  much  worse  for  the  wheat.  We 
hear  that  Mrs.  S.  does  not  quit  Tangier :  why  and 
wherefore?  Do  you  know  that  our  Browning  is 
gone?  You  must  prepare  for  a  William  when  you 
come,  a  good-looking  lad,  civil  and  quiet,  and 
seeming  likely  to  do.  Good-by.  I  am  sure  Mr. 
W.  D.1  will  be  astonished  at  my  writing  so  much, 
for  the  paper  is  so  thin  that  he  will  be  able  to 
count  the  lines  if  not  to  read  them. 
Yours  affecly, 

JANE  AUSTEN. 

In  the  next  letter  will  be  found  her  description 
of  her  own  style  of  composition,  which  has  already 
appeared  in  the  notice  prefixed  to  "  Northanger 
Abbey  "  and  "  Persuasion  "  :  — 

CHAWTON,  Monday,  Dec.  16,  1816. 
MY  DEAR  E.,  — One  reason  for  my  writing  to 
you  now  is,  that  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  direct- 
ing to  you  Esqre.  I  give  you  joy  of  having  left 
Winchester.  Now  you  may  own  how  miserable 
you  were  there ;  now  it  will  gradually  all  come  out, 
your  crimes  and  your  miseries,  —  how  often  you 
went  up  by  the  Mail  to  London  and  threw  away 

1  Mr.  Digweed,  who  conveyed  the  letters  to  and  from 
Chawton,  was  the  gentleman  named,  in  page  193,  as  renting 
the  old  manor-house  and  the  large  farm  at  Steveuton. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  309 

fifty  guineas  at  a  tavern,  and  how  often  you  were 
on  the  point  of  hanging  yourself,  restrained  only, 
as  some  ill-natured  aspersion  upon  poor  old  Win- 
ton  has  it,  by  the  want  of  a  tree  within  some  miles 
of  the  city.  Charles  Knight  and  his  companions 
passed  through  Chawton  about  nine  this  morning; 
later  than  it  used  to  be.  Uncle  Henry  and  I  had 
a  glimpse  of  his  handsome  face,  looking  all  health 
and  good-humor.  I  wonder  when  you  will  come 
and  see  us.  I  know  what  I  rather  speculate  upon, 
but  shall  say  nothing.  We  think  Uncle  Henry  in 
excellent  looks.  Look  at  him  this  moment,  and 
think  so  too,  if  you  have  not  done  it  before ;  and 
we  have  the  great  comfort  of  seeing  decided  im- 
provement in  Uncle  Charles,  both  as  to  health, 
spirits,  and  appearance.  And  they  are  each  of 
them  so  agreeable  in  their  different  way,  and 
harmonize  so  well,  that  their  visit  is  thorough  en- 
joyment. Uncle  Henry  writes  very  superior  ser- 
mons. You  and  I  must  try  to  get  hold  of  one  or 
two,  and  put  them  into  our  novels :  it  would  be  a 
fine  help  to  a  volume;  and  we  could  make  our 
heroine  read  it  aloud  on  a  Sunday  evening,  just  as 
well  as  Isabella  Wardour,  in  the  "  Antiquary/7  is 
made  to  read  the  "  History  of  the  Hartz  Demon  " 
in  the  ruins  of  St.  Ruth,  though  I  believe,  on 
recollection,  Lovell  is  the  reader.  By  the  bye, 
my  dear  E.,  I  am  quite  concerned  for  the  loss  your 
mother  mentions  in  her  letter.  Two  chapters  and 
a  half  to  be  missing  is  monstrous !  It  is  well  that 
I  have  not  been  at  Steventon  lately,  and  therefore 
cannot  be  suspected  of  purloining  them :  two  strong 
twigs  and  a  half  towards  a  nest  of  my  own  would 


310  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

have  been  something.  I  do  not  think,  however, 
that  any  theft  of  that  sort  would  be  really  very 
useful  to  me.  What  should  I  do  with  your  strong, 
manly,  vigorous  sketches,  full  of  variety  and  glow? 
How  could  I  possibly  join  them  on  to  the  little  bit 
(two  inches  wide)  of  ivory  on  which  I  work  with 
so  fine  a  brush  as  produces  little  effect  after  much 
labor. 

You  will  hear  from  Uncle  Henry  how  well 
Anna  is.  She  seems  perfectly  recovered.  Ben 
was  here  on  Saturday,  to  ask  Uncle  Charles  and 
me  to  dine  with  them  to-morrow,  but  I  was  forced 
to  decline  it,  as  the  walk  is  beyond  my  strength 
(though  I  am  otherwise  very  well),  and  this  is  not 
a  season  for  donkey-carriages;  and  as  we  do  not 
like  to  spare  Uncle  Charles,  he  has  declined  it  too. 
Tuesday.  Ah,  ah!  Mr.  E.  I  doubt  your  seeing 
Uncle  Henry  at  Steventon  to-day.  The  weather 
will  prevent  your  expecting  him,  I  think.  Tell 
your  father,  with  Aunt  Cass's  love  and  mine,  that 
the  pickled  cucumbers  are  extremely  good,  and 
tell  him  also — " tell  him  what  you  will."  No, 
don't  tell  him  what  you  will,  but  tell  him  that 
grandmamma  begs  him  to  make  Joseph  Hall  pay 
his  rent,  if  he  can. 

You  must  not  be  tired  of  reading  the  word 
uncle,  for  I  have  not  done  with  it.  Uncle  Charles 
thanks  your  mother  for  her  letter;  it  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  him  to  know  that  the  parcel  was 
received  and  gave  so  much  satisfaction,  and  he 
begs  her  to  be  so  good  as  to  give  three  shillings  for 
him  to  Dame  Staples,  which  shall  be  allowed  for 
in  the  payment  of  her  debt  here. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  311 

Adieu,  Amiable!     I  hope  Caroline 'behaves  well 

to  you.  yours  affec*, 

J.  AUSTEN. 

I  cannot  tell  how  soon  she  was  aware  of  the 
serious  nature  of  her  malady.  By  God's  mercy  it 
was  not  attended  with  much  suffering;  so  that  she 
•was  able  to  tell  her  friends  as  in  the  foregoing 
letter,  and  perhaps  sometimes  to  persuade  herself, 
that,  excepting  want  of  strength,  she  was  "  other- 
wise very  well;"  but  the  progress  of  the  disease 
became  more  and  more  manifest  as  the  year 
advanced.  The  usual  walk  was  at  first  shortened, 
and  then  discontinued;  and  air  was  sought  in  a 
donkey-carriage.  Gradually,  too,  her  habits  of 
activity  within  the  house  ceased,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  lie  down  much.  The  sitting-room  con- 
tained only  one  sofa,  which  was  frequently  occu- 
pied by  her  mother,  who  was  more  than  seventy 
years  old.  Jane  would  never  use  it,  even  in  her 
mother's  absence;  but  she  contrived  a  sort  of 
couch  for  herself  with  two  or  three  chairs,  and  was 
pleased  to  say  that  this  arrangement  was  more 
comfortable  to  her  than  a  real  sofa.  Her  reasons 
for  this  might  have  been  left  to  be  guessed,  but  for 
the  importunities  of  a  little  niece,  which  obliged 
her  to  explain  that  if  she  herself  had  shown  any 
inclination  to  use  the  sofa,  her  mother  might  have 
scrupled  being  on  it  so  much  as  was  good  for 
her. 

It  is  certain,   however,  that   the  mind  did  not 
share  in  this  decay  of  the  bodily  strength.      "Per- 


312  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

August  in  that  year;  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  then  completed  affords  proof  that  neither  the 
critical  nor  the  creative  powers  of  the  author  were 
at  all  impaired.     The  hook  had  been  brought  to  an 
end  in  July;  and  the   re-engagement  of  the  hero 
and  heroine  effected  in  a  totally  different  manner 
in  a  scene  laid  at  Admiral  Croft's  lodgings.     BUT 
her  performance  did  not  satisfy  her.     She  thought 
it  tame  and  flat,    and   was  desirous  of  producing 
something  better.     This  weighed  upon  her  mind, 
the  more  so  probably  on  account  of  the  weak  state 
of  her  health,   so  that  one  night  she  retired  to  rest 
in   very    low   spirits.     But    such   depression   was 
little  in  accordance  with  her  nature,  and  was  soon 
shaken  off.     The  next  morning  she  awoke  to  more 
cheerful  views  and  brighter  inspirations ;  the  sense 
of   power   revived,    and  imagination   resumed   its 
course.     She  cancelled  the  condemned  chapter,  and 
wrote  two  others,  entirely  different,   in  its  stead. 
The  result  is  that  we  possess  the  visit  of  the  Mus- 
grove  party  to  Bath:  the   crowded  and  animated 
scenes  at  the  White  Hart  Hotel;  and  the  charming 
conversation  between  Captain  Harville  and  Anne 
Elliot,  overheard  by  Captain  Wentworth,  by  which 
the  two  faithful  lovers  were  at  last  led  to  under- 
stand    each    other's    feelings.     The     tenth    and 
eleventh  chapters  of    "  Persuasion,"    then,   rather 
than  the  actual  winding-up  of  the  story,  contain  the 
latest  of  her  printed  compositions,  her  last  contribu- 
tion to  the  entertainment  of  the  public.      Perhaps 
it   may  be  thought  that   she  has  seldom  written 
anything  more  brilliant;  and  that  independent  of 
the  original  manner  in  which  the  denouement  is 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  313 

brought  about,  the  pictures  of  Charles  Mus grove's 
good-natured  boyishness  and  of  his  wife's  jealous 
selfishness  would  have  been  incomplete  without 
these  finishing  strokes.  The  cancelled  chapter 
exists  in  manuscript.  It  is  certainly  inferior  to 
the  two  which  were  substituted  for  it :  but  it  was 
such  as  some  writers  and  some  readers  might  have 
been  contented  with;  and  it  contained  touches 
which  scarcely  any  other  hand  could  have  given, 
the  suppression  of  which  may  be  almost  a  matter  of 
regret.1 

The  following  letter  was  addressed  to  her  friend 
Miss  Bigg,  then  staying  at  Streatham  with  her 
sister,  the  wife  of  the  Reverend  Herbert  Hill, 
uncle  of  Robert  Southey.  It  appears  to  have  been 
written  three  days  before  she  began  her  last  work, 
which  will  be  noticed  in  another  chapter;  and 
shows  that  she  was  not  at  that  time  aware  of  the 
serious  nature  of  her  malady :  — 

CHAWTON,  January  24,  1817. 

MY  DEAR  ALETHEA, —  I  think  it  time  there 
should  be  a  little  writing  between  us,  though  I  be- 
lieve the  epistolary  debt  is  on  your  side,  and  I  hope 
this  will  find  all  the  Streatham  party  well,  neither 
carried  away  by  the  flood,  nor  rheumatic  through 
the  damps.  Such  mild  weather  is,  you  know,  de- 
lightful to  us,  and  though  we  have  a  great  many 
ponds,  and  a  fine  running  stream  through  the  mead- 
ows on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  it  is  nothing  but 
what  beautifies  us  and  does  to  talk  of.  I  have  cer- 

1  This  cancelled  chapter  is  now  printed,  in  compliance  with 
the  requests  addressed  to  me  from  several  quarters. 


314  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

tainly  gained  strength  through  the  winter,  and  am 
not  far  from  being  well ;  and  I  think  I  understand 
my  own  case  now  so  much  better  than  I  did,  as  to 
be  able  by  care  to  keep  off  any  serious  return  of 
illness.  I  am  convinced  that  bile  is  at  the  bottom 
of  all  I  have  suffered,  which  makes  it  easy  to  know 
how  to  treat  myself.  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  thus 
much  of  me,  I  am  sure.  We  have  just  had  a  few 
days'  visit  from  Edward,  who  brought  us  a  good 
account  of  his  father;  and  the  very  circumstance  of 
his  coming  at  all,  of  his  father's  being  able  to  spare 
him,  is  itself  a  good  account.  He  grows  still, 
and  still  improves  in  appearance,  at  least  in  the 
estimation  of  his  aunts,  who  love  him  better  and 
better,  as  they  see  the  sweet  temper  and  warm 
affections  of  the  boy  confirmed  in  the  young  man : 
I  tried  hard  to  persuade  him  that  he  must  have  some 
message  for  William,1  but  in  vain.  .  .  .  This  is 
not  a  time  of  year  for  donkey-carriages,  and  our 
donkeys  are  necessarily  having  so  long  a  run  of 
luxurious  idleness  that  I  suppose  we  shall  find  they 
have  forgotten  much  of  their  education  when  we 
use  them  again.  We  do  not  use  two  at  once,  how- 
ever; don't  imagine  such  excesses.  .  .  .  Our  own 
new  clergyman a  is  expected  here  very  soon,  per- 
haps in  time  to  assist  Mr.  Papillon  on  Sunday.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  when  the  first  hearing  is  over. 
It  will  be  a  nervous  hour  for  our  pew,  though  we 
hear  that  he  acquits  himself  with  as  much  ease  and 
collectedness  as  if  he  had  been  used  to  it  all  his 

1  Miss  Bigg's  nephew,  the  present  Sir  William  Heathcote, 
of  rlursley. 

2  Her  brother  Henry,  who  had  been  ordained  late  in  life. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  315 

life.  We  have  no  chance,  we  know,  of  seeing  you 
between  Streatham  and  Winchester,  you  go  the 
other  road  and  are  engaged  to  two  or  three  houses  j 
if  there  should  be  any  change,  however,  you  know 
how  welcome  you  would  be.  .  .  .  We  have  been 
reading  the  " Poet's  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo,''  and 
generally  with  much  approbation.  Nothing  will 
please  all  the  world,  you  know;  but  parts  of  it 
suit  me  better  than  much  that  he  has  written 
before.  The  opening  —  the  proem  I  believe  he 
calls  it  —  is  very  beautiful.  Poor  man !  one  can- 
ii ot  but  grieve  for  the  loss  of  the  son  so  fondly  de- 
scribed. Has  he  at  all  recovered  it?  What  do- 
Mr,  and  Mrs.  Hill  know  about  his  present  state? 
Yours  afPy, 

J.  AUSTEN. 

The  real  object  of  this  letter  is  to  ask  you  for 
a  receipt,  but  I  thought  it  genteel  not  to  let  it 
appear  early.  We  remember  some  excellent  or- 
ange wine  at  Many  down,  made  from  Seville- 
oranges  entirely  or  chiefly.  I  should  be  very 
much  obliged  to  you  for  the  receipt,  if  you  can 
command  it  within  a  few  weeks. 

On  the  day  before,  January  23d,  she  had 
written  to  her  niece  in  the  same  hopeful  tone :  "I 
feel  myself  getting  stronger  than  I  was,  and  can 
so  perfectly  walk  to  Alton  or  back  again  without 
fatigue,  that  I  hope  to  be  able  to  do  both  when 
summer  comes." 

Alas!  summer  came  to  her  only  on  her  death- 
bed. March  17th  is  the  last  date  to  be  found  in 


316  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

the  manuscript  on  which  she  was  engaged;  and  as 
the  watch  of  the  drowned  man  indicates  the  time 
of  his  death,  so  does  this  final  date  seem  to  fix  the 
period  when  her  mind  could  no  longer  pursue  its 
accustomed  course. 

And  here  I  cannot  do  better  than  quote  the 
words  of  the  niece  to  whose  private  records  of 
her  aunt's  life  and  character  I  have  been  so  of- 
ten indebted:  "I  do  not  know  how  early  the 
alarming  symptoms  of  her  malady  came  on.  It 
was  in  the  following  March  that  I  had  the  first 
idea  of  her  being  seriously  ill.  It  had  been  set- 
tled that  about  the  end  of  that  month  or  the  be- 
ginning of  April  I  should  spend  a  few  days  at 
Chawton,  in  the  absence  of  my  father  and  mother, 
who  were  just  then  engaged  with  Mrs.  Leigh 
Perrot  in  arranging  her  late  husband's  affairs ;  but 
Aunt  Jane  became  too  ill  to  have  me  in  the  house, 
and  so  I  went  instead  to  my  sister  Mrs.  Lefroy 
at  Wyards'.  The  next  day  we  walked  over  to 
Chawton  to  make  inquiries  after  our  aunt.  She 
was  then  keeping  her  room,  but  said  she  would 
see  us,  and  we  went  up  to  her.  She  was  in  her 
dressing-gown,  and  was  sitting  quite  like  an  in- 
valid in  an  armchair,  but  she  got  up  and  kindly 
greeted  us,  and  then,  pointing  to  seats  which  had 
been  arranged  for  us  by  the  fire,  she  said,  '  There 
is  a  chair  for  the  married  lady,  and  a  little  stool 
for  you,  Caroline.7 1  It  is  strange,  but  those 
trifling  words  were  the  last  of  hers  that  I  can  re- 
member, for  I  retain  no  recollection  of  what  was 
said  by  any  one  in  the  conversation  that  ensued. 

1  The  writer  was  at  that  time  under  twelve  years  old. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  317 

I  was  struck  by  the  alteration  in  herself.  She 
was  very  pale,  her  voice  was  weak  and  low,  and 
there  was  about  her  a  general  appearance  of  debil- 
ity and  suffering;  but  I  have  been  told  that  she 
never  had  much  acute  pain.  She  was  not  equal  to 
the  exertion  of  talking  to  us,  and  our  visit  to  the 
sick-room  was  a  very  short  one,  Aunt  Cassandra  soon 
taking  us  away.  I  do  not  suppose  we  stayed  a 
quarter  of  an  hour;  and  I  never  saw  Aunt  Jane 
again." 

In  May,  1817,  she  was  persuaded  to  remove  to 
Winchester,  for  the  sake  of  medical  advice  from 
Mr.  Lyford.  The  Lyfords  have,  for  some  genera- 
tions, maintained  a  high  character  in  Winchester 
for  medical  skill,  and  the  Mr.  Lyford  of  that  day 
was  a  man  of  more  than  provincial  reputation,  in 
whom  great  London  practitioners  expressed  confi- 
dence. Mr.  Lyford  spoke  encouragingly.  It  was 
not,  of  course,  his  business  to  extinguish  hope  in 
his  patient,  but  I  believe  that  he  had,  from  the 
first,  very  little  expectation  of  a  permanent  cure. 
All  that  was  gained  by  the  removal  from  home 
was  the  satisfaction  of  having  done  the  best  that 
could  be  done,  together  with  such  alleviations  of 
suffering  as  superior  medical  skill  could  afford. 

Jane  and  her  sister  Cassandra  took  lodgings  in 
College  Street.  They  had  two  kind  friends  liv- 
ing in  the  Close,  Mrs.  Heathcote  and  Miss  Bigg, 
the  mother  and  aunt  of  the  present  Sir  Wm. 
Heathcote,  of  Hursley,  between  whose  family  and 
ours  a  close  friendship  has  existed  for  several 
generations.  These  friends  did  all  that  they  could 
to  promote  the  comfort  of  the  sisters,  during  that 


318  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

sad  sojourn  in  Winchester,  both  by  their  society, 
and  by  supplying  those  little  conveniences  in 
which  a  lodging-house  was  likely  to  be  deficient. 
It  was  shortly  after  settling  in  these  lodgings 
that  she  wrote  to  a  nephew  the  following  charac- 
teristic letter,  no  longer,  alas!  in  her  former 
strong,  clear  hand :  — 

MRS.  DAVID'S,  COLLEGE  ST.,  WINTON, 
Tuesday,  May  27th. 

There  is  no  better  way,  my  dearest  E.,  of  thank- 
ing you  for  your  affectionate  concern  for  me  during 
my  illness  than  by  telling  you  myself,  as  soon  as 
possible,  that  I  continue  to  get  better.  I  will  not 
boast  of  my  handwriting;  neither  that  nor  my  face 
have  yet  recovered  their  proper  beauty,  but  in  other 
respects  I  gain  strength  very  fast.  I  am  now  out  of 
bed  from  nine  in  the  morning  to  ten  at  night: 
upon  the  sofa,  it  is  true,  but  I  eat  my  meals  with 
Aunt  Cassandra  in  a  rational  way,  and  can  employ 
myself,  and  walk  from  one  room  to  another.  Mr. 
Lyford  says  he  will  cure  me,  and  if  he  fails,  I 
shall  draw  up  a  memorial  and  lay  it  before  the 
Dean  and  Chapter,  and  have  no  doubt  of  redress 
from  that  pious,  learned,  and  disinterested  body. 
Our  lodgings  are  very  comfortable.  We  have  a 
neat  little  drawing-room  with  a  bow  window  over- 
looking Dr.  GabelPs  garden.1  Thanks  to  the  kind- 
ness of  your  father  and  mother  in  sending  me 
their  carriage,  my  journey  hither  on  Saturday  was 
performed  with  very  little  fatigue,  and  had  it  been 

1  It  was  the  corner  house  in  College  Street,  at  the  entrance 
to  Commoners. 


A  MEMOIR   OF  JANE   AUSTEN.  319 

a  fine  day,  I  think  I  should  have  felt  none;  but 
it  distressed  me  to  see  Uncle  Henry  and  Wm. 
Knight,  who  kindly  attended  us  on  horseback,  rid- 
ing in  the  rain  almost  the  whole  way.  We  expect 
a  visit  from  them  to-morrow,  and  hope  they  will 
stay  the  night;  and  on  Thursday,  which  is  a  con- 
firmation and  a  holiday,  we  are  to  get  Charles  out 
to  breakfast.  We  have  had  but  one  visit  from 
him,  poor  fellow,  as  he  is  in  sick-room,  but  he 
hopes  to  be  out  to-night.  We  see  Mrs.  Heathcote 
every  day,  and  William  is  to  call  upon  us  soon. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  E.  If  ever  you  are  ill, 
may  you  be  as  tenderly  nursed  as  I  have  been. 
May  the  same  blessed  alleviations  of  anxious,  sym- 
pathizing friends  be  yours :  and  may  you  possess, 
as  I  dare  say  you  will,  the  greatest  blessing  of 
all  in  the  consciousness  of  not  being  unworthy  of 
their  love.  I  could  not  feel  this. 

Your  very  affecte  Aunt, 

J.  A. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  which  has  been 
before  printed,  written  soon  after  the  former,  breathes 
the  same  spirit  of  humility  and  thankfulness :  — 

' '  I  will  only  say  further  that  my  dearest  sister,  my 
tender,  watchful,  indefatigable  nurse,  has  not  been 
made  ill  by  her  exertions.  As  to  what  I  owe  her, 
and  the  anxious  affection  of  all  my  beloved  family 
on  this  occasion,  I  can  only  cry  over  it,  and  pray 
G-od  to  bless  them  more  and  more." 

Throughout  her  illness  she  was  nursed  by  her  sis- 
ter, often  assisted  by  her  sister-in-law,  my  mother. 
Both  were  with  her  when  she  died.  Two  of  her 


320  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

brothers,  who  were  clergymen,  lived  near  enough 
to  Winchester  to  be  in  frequent  attendance,  and 
to  administer  the  services  suitable  for  a  Christian's 
death-bed.  While  she  used  the  language  of  hope 
to  her  correspondents,  she  was  fully  aware  of  her 
danger,  though  not  appalled  by  it.  It  is  true  that 
there  was  much  to  attach  her  to  life.  She  was 
happy  in  her  family;  she  was  just  beginning  to 
feel  confidence  in  her  own  success ;  and,  no  doubt, 
the  exercise  of  her  great  talents  was  an  enjoyment 
in  itself.  We  may  well  believe  that  she  would 
gladly  have  lived  longer;  but  she  was  enabled  with- 
out dismay  or  complaint  to  prepare  for  death.  She 
was  a  humble,  believing  Christian.  Her  life  had 
been  passed  in  the  performance  of  home  duties  and 
the  cultivation  of  domestic  affections,  without  any 
self-seeking  or  craving  after  applause.  She  had  al- 
ways sought,  as  it  were  by  instinct,  to  promote  the 
happiness  of  all  who  came  within  her  influence, 
and  doubtless  she  had  her  reward  in  the  peace  of 
mind  which  was  granted  her  in  her  last  days.  Her 
sweetness  of  temper  never  failed.  She  was  ever 
considerate  and  grateful  to  those  who  attended 
on  her.  At  times,  when  she  felt  rather  better, 
her  playfulness  of  spirit  revived,  and  she  amused 
them  even  in  their  sadness.  Once,  when  she 
thought  herself  near  her  end,  she  said  what  she 
imagined  might  be  her  last  words  to  those  around 
her,  and  particularly  thanked  her  sister-in-law  for 
being  with  her,  saying,  "  You  have  always  been  a 
kind  sister  to  me,  Mary."  When  the  end  at  last 
came,  she  sank  rapidly,  and  on  being  asked  by  her 
attendants  whether  there  was  anything  that  she 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  321 

wanted,  her  reply  was,  "Nothing  but  death." 
These  were  her  last  words.  In  quietness  and 
peace  she  breathed  her  last  on  the  morning  of 
July  18,  1817. 

On  the  24th  of  that  month  she  was  buried  in 
Winchester  Cathedral,1  near  the  centre  of  the  north 
aisle,  almost  opposite  to  the  beautiful  chantry  tomb 
of  William  of  Wykeham.  A  large  slab  of  black 
marble  in  the  pavement  marks  the  place.  Her  own 
family  only  attended  the  funeral.  Her  sister  re- 
turned to  her  desolated  home,  there  to  devote  her^ 
self  for  ten  years  to  the  care  of  her  aged  mother, 
and  to  live  much  on  the  memory  of  her  lost  sister, 
till  called  many  years  later  to  rejoin  her.  Her 
brothers  went  back  sorrowing  to  their  several 
homes.  They  were  very  fond  and  very  proud  of 
her.  They  were  attached  to  her  by  her  talents, 
her  virtues,  and  her  engaging  manners ;  and  each 
loved  afterwards  to  fancy  a  resemblance  in  some 
niece  or  daughter  of  his  own  to  the  dear  sister 
Jane,  whose  perfect  equal  they  yet  never  expected 
to  see. 

1  Inscription  on  Jane  Austen's  tomb  :  — 
JANE    AUSTEN, 

KNOWN    TO     MANY    BY    HER    WRITINGS,    ENDEARED    TO    HEB 

FAMILY   BY   THE   VARIED  CHARMS   OF   HER  CHARACTER, 

AND   ENNOBLED   BY  CHRISTIAN  FAITH   AND    PIETY, 

WAS    BORN   AT   STEVENTON   IN   THE    COUNTY 

OF   HANTS,  DECr  XVI.    MDCCLXXV,    AND 

BURIED   IN   THIS   CATHEDRAL 

JULY  XXIV.   MDCCCXVII. 

"  She  openeth  her  mouth  with  wisdom ;  and  in  her  tongue  is  the  law 
of  kindness."  —  PEOV.  xxxi.  v.  xxvi. 
21 


322  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  CANCELLED  CHAPTER  (CHAP.  X.)  OF  "PERSUASION." 

WITH  all  this  knowledge  of  Mr.  Elliot  and  this 
authority  to  impart  it,  Anne  left  Westgate  Build- 
ings, her  mind  deeply  husy  in  revolving  what  she 
had  heard,  feeling,  thinking,  recalling,  and  fore- 
seeing everything,  shocked  at  Mr.  Elliot,  sighing 
over  future  Kellynch,  and  pained  for  Lady  Russell, 
whose  confidence  in  him  had  been  entire.  The 
embarrassment  which  must  be  felt  from  this  hour 
in  his  presence !  How  to  behave  to  him?  How  to 
get  rid  of  him?  What  to  do  by  any  of  the  party 
at  home?  Where  to  be  blind?  Where  to  be  ac- 
tive? It  was  altogether  a  confusion  of  images 
and  doubts  —  a  perplexity,  an  agitation  which  she 
could  not  see  the  end  of.  And  she  was  in  Gay 
Street,  and  still  so  much  engrossed  that  she  started 
on  being  addressed  by  Admiral  Croft,  as  if  he  were 
a  person  unlikely  to  be  met  there.  It  was  within 
a  few  steps  of  his  own  door. 

"  You  are  going  to  call  upon  my  wife/7  said  he. 
"  She  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Anne  denied  it. 

' i  No !  she  really  had  not  time,  she  was  in  her 
way  home;  "  but  while  she  spoke  the  Admiral  had 
stepped  back  and  knocked  at  the  door,  calling  out : 

"  Yes,  yes;  do  go  in;  she  is  all  alone;  go  in 
and  rest  yourself. " 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  323 

Anne  felt  so  little  disposed  at  this  time  to  be  in 
company  of  any  sort,  that  it  vexed  her  to  be  thus 
constrained,  but  she  was  obliged  to  stop. 

"  Since  you  are  so  very  kind,"  said  she,  "  I  will 
just  ask  Mrs.  Croft  how  she  does,  but  I  really  can- 
not stay  five  minutes.  You  are  sure  she  is  quite 
alone?  " 

The  possibility  of  Captain  Wentworth  had  oc- 
curred; and  most  fearfully  anxious  was  she  to  be 
assured  either  that  he  was  within  or  that  he 
was  not,  —  which  might  have  been  a  question. 

"Oh,  yes!  quite  alone,  nobody  but  her  mantua- 
maker  with  her,  and  they  have  been  shut  up  to- 
gether this  half-hour,  so  it  must  be  over  soon." 

"Her  mantua-maker !  Then  I  am  sure  my 
calling  now  would  be  most  inconvenient.  Indeed 
you  must  allow  me  to  leave  my  card  and  be  so  good 
as  to  explain  it  afterwards  to  Mrs.  Croft.7' 

"No,  no,  not  at  all,  not  at  all, — she  will  be 
very  happy  to  see  you.  Mind,  I  will  not  swear 
that  she  has  not  something  particular  to  say  to 
you,  but  that  will  all  come  out  in  the  right  place. 
I  give  no  hints.  Why,  Miss  Elliot,  we  begin  to 
hear  strange  things  of  you,"  smiling  in  her  face. 
' '  But  you  have  not  much  the  look  of  it,  as  grave  as 
a  little  judge!  " 

Anne  blushed, 

"Ay,  ay,  that  will  do  now,  it  is  all  right.  I 
thought  we  were  not  mistaken. " 

She  was  left  to  guess  at  the  direction  of  his  sus- 
picions; the  first  wild  idea  had  been  of  some 
disclosure  from  his  brother-in-law,  but  she  was 
ashamed  the  next  moment,  and  felt  how  far  more 


324  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

probable  it  was  that  he  should  be  meaning  Mr. 
Elliot.  The  door  was  opened,  and  the  man  evi- 
dently beginning  to  deny  his  mistress,  when  the 
sight  of  his  master  stopped  him.  The  Admiral 
enjoyed  the  joke  exceedingly.  Anne  thought  his 
triumph  over  Stephen  rather  too  long.  At  last, 
however,  he  was  able  to  invite  her  upstairs,  and 
stepping  before  her  said,  "I  will  just  go  up  with 
you  myself  and  show  you  in.  I  cannot  stay, 
because  I  must  go  to  the  Post-Office;  but  if  you 
will  only  sit  down  for  five  minutes  I  am  sure 
Sophy  will  come,  and  you  will  find  nobody  to  dis- 
turb you,  — there  is  nobody  but  Frederick  here, " 
opening  the  door  as  he  spoke.  Such  a  person  to  be 
passed  over  as  nobody  to  her!  After  being  allowed 
to  feel  quite  secure,  indifferent,  at  her  ease,  to  have 
it  burst  on  her  that  she  was  to  be  the  next  moment 
in  the  same  room  with  him!  JSTo  time  for  recol- 
lection! for  planning  behavior  or  regulating  man- 
ners! There  was  time  only  to  turn  pale  before 
she  had  passed  through  the  door,  and  met  the 
astonished  eyes  of  Captain  Wentworth,  who  was 
sitting  by  the  fire,  pretending  to  read,  and  pre- 
pared for  no  greater  surprise  than  the  Admiral's 
hasty  return. 

Equally  unexpected  was  the  meeting  on.  each 
side.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  however, 
but  to  stifle  feelings,  and  to  be  quietly  polite ;  and 
the  Admiral  was  too  much  on  the  alert  to  leave  any 
troublesome  pause.  He  repeated  again  what  he 
had  said  before  about  his  wife  and  everybody,  in- 
sisted on  Anne's  sitting  down  and  being  perfectly 
comfortable,  —  was  sorry  he  must  leave  her  himself, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  325 

but  was  sure  Mrs.  Croft  would  be  down  very  soon, 
and  would  go  upstairs  and  give  her  notice  directly. 
Anne  was  sitting  down;  but  now  she  arose,  again 
to  entreat  him  not  to  interrupt  Mrs.  Croft,  and  re- 
urge  the  wish  of  going  away  and  calling  another 
time.  But  the  Admiral  would  not  hear  of  it;  and 
if  she  did  not  return  to  the  charge  with  uncon- 
querable perseverance,  or  did  not  with  a  more  pas- 
sive determination  walk  quietly  out  of  the  room 
(as  certainly  she  might  have  done),  may  she  not 
be  pardoned?  If  she  had  no  horror  of  a  few  min- 
utes '  tete-a-tete  with  Captain  Wentworth,  may  she 
not  be  pardoned  for  not  wishing  to  give  him  the 
idea  that  she  had  ?  She  reseated  herself,  and  the 
Admiral  took  leave,  but  on  reaching  the  door, 
said,  — 

"  Frederick,  a  word  with  you  if  you  please." 

Captain  Wentworth  went  to  him,  and  instantly, 
before  they  were  well  out  of  the  room,  the  Admiral 
continued,  — 

"  As  I  am  going  to  leave  you  together,  it  is  but 
fair  I  should  give  you  something  to  talk  of;  and 
so,  if  you  please  —  " 

Here  the  door  was  very  firmly  closed,  she  could 
guess  by  which  of  the  two  —  and  she  lost  entirely 
what  immediately  followed,  but  it  was  impossible 
for  her  not  to  distinguish  parts  of  the  rest,  for  the 
Admiral,  on  the  strength  of  the  door's  being  shut, 
was  speaking  without  any  management  of  voice, 
though  she  could  hear  his  companion  trying  to 
check  him.  She  could  not  doubt  their  being  speak- 
ing of  her.  She  heard  her  own  name  and  Kel- 
lynch  repeatedly.  She  was  very  much  disturbed. 


326  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

She  knew  not  what  to  do  or  what  to  expect,  and 
among  other  agonies  felt  the  possibility  of  Captain 
Wentworth's  not  returning  into  the  room  at  all, 
which,  after  her  consenting  to  stay,  would  have  been 
—  too  bad  for  language.  They  seemed  to  be  talk- 
ing of  the  Admiral's  lease  of  Kellynch.  She  heard 
him  say  something  of  the  lease  being  signed  —  or 
not  signed;  that  was  not  likely  to  be  a  very  agi- 
tating subject,  but  then  followed,  — 

* '  I  hate  to  be  at  an  uncertainty.  I  must  know 
at  once,  Sophy  thinks  the  same." 

Then  in  a  lower  tone  Captain  Wentworth 
seemed  remonstrating,  wanting  to  be  excused, 
wanting  to  put  something  off. 

t(  Phoo,  phoo, "  answered  the  Admiral,  "now  is 
the  time;  if  you  will  not  speak,  I  will  stop  and 
speak  myself." 

"  Very  well,  sir,  very  well,  sir,"  followed  with 
some  impatience  from  his  companion,  opening  the 
door  as  he  spoke,  — 

"  You  will  then,  you  promise  you  will?  "  re- 
plied  the  Admiral  in  all  the  power  of  his  natural 
voice,  unbroken  even  by  one  thin  door. 

"  Yes,  sir,  yes."  And  the  Admiral  was  hastily 
left,  the  door  was  closed,  and  the  moment  arrived 
in  which  Anne  was  alone  with  Captain  Went- 
worth. 

She  could  not  attempt  to  see  how  he  looked,  but 
he  walked  immediately  to  a  window  as  if  irreso- 
lute and  embarrassed,  and  for  about  the  space  of 
five  seconds  she  repented  what  she  had  done,  — 
censured  it  as  unwise,  blushed  over  it  as  indeli- 
cate. She  longed  to  be  able  to  speak  of  the 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  327 

weather  or  the  concert,  but  could  only  compass  the 
relief  of  taking  a  newspaper  in  her  hand.  The 
distressing  pause  was  over,  however;  he  turned 
round  in  half  a  minute,  and  coming  towards  the 
table  where  she  sat,  said  in  a  voice  of  effort  and 
constraint,  — 

"You  must  have  heard  too  much  already, 
Madam,  to  be  in  any  doubt  of  my  having  prom- 
ised Admiral  Croft  to  speak  to  you  on  a  particular 
subject,  and  this  conviction  determines  me  to  do 
so,  however  repugnant  to  my  —  to  all  my  sense  of 
propriety  to  be  taking  so  great  a  liberty!  You 
will  acquit  me  of  impertinence,  I  trust,  by  consid- 
ering me  as  speaking  only  for  another,  and  speak- 
ing by  necessity;  and  the  Admiral  is  a  man  who 
can  never  be  thought  impertinent  by  one  who 
knows  him  as  you  do.  His  intentions  are  always 
the  kindest  and  the  best,  and  you  will  perceive 
he  is  actuated  by  none  other  in  the  application 
which  I  am  now,  with  —  with  very  peculiar  feel- 
ings—  obliged  to  make."  He  stopped,  but 
merely  to  recover  breath,  not  seeming  to  expect 
any  answer.  Anne  listened  as  if  her  life  de- 
pended on  the  issue  of  his  speech.  He  proceeded 
with  a  forced  alacrity :  — 

"The  Admiral,  Madam,  was  this  morning  con- 
fidently informed  that  you  were  —  upon  my  soul, 
I  am  quite  at  a  loss,  ashamed,"  breathing  and 
speaking  quickly, —  "the  awkwardness  of  giving 
information  of  this  kind  to  one  of  the  parties  — 
you  can  be  at  no  loss  to  understand  me.  It  was 
very  confidently  said  that  Mr.  Elliot  —  that  every- 
thing was  settled  in  the  family  for  a  union  be- 


328  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

tween  Mr.  Elliot  and  yourself.  It  was  added  that 
you  were  to  live  at  Kellynch,  —  that  Kellynch 
was  to  be  given  up.  This  the  Admiral  knew 
could  not  be  correct.  But  it  occurred  to  him  that 
it  might  be  the  wish  of  the  parties.  And  my 
commission  from  him,  Madam,  is  to  say,  that  if 
the  family  wish  is  such,  his  lease  of  Kellynch 
shall  be  cancelled,  and  he  and  my  sister  will  pro- 
vide themselves  with  another  home,  without  im- 
agining themselves  to  be  doing  anything  which 
under  similar  circumstances  would  not  be  done 
for  them.  This  is  all,  Madam.  A  very  few 
words  in  reply  from  you  will  be  sufficient.  That 
I  should  be  the  person  commissioned  on  this  sub- 
ject is  extraordinary!  and  believe  me,  Madam,  it 
is  no  less  painful.  A  very  few  words,  however, 
will  put  an  end  to  the  awkwardness  and  distress 
we  may  both  be  feeling/7 

Anne  spoke  a  word  or  two,  but  they  were  unin- 
telligible ;  and  before  she  could  command  herself, 
he  added:  "If  you  will  only  tell  me  that  the 
Admiral  may  address  a  line  to  Sir  Walter,  it  will 
be  enough.  Pronounce  only  the  words,  'He  may,' 
and  I  shall  immediately  follow  him  with  your 
message." 

"No,  Sir,77  said  Anne;  "there  is  no  message. 
You  are  misin —  the  Admiral  is  misinformed.  I 
do  justice  to  the  kindness  of  his  intentions,  but  he 
is  quite  mistaken.  There  is  no  truth  in  any  such 
report.77 

He  was  a  moment  silent.  She  turned  her  eyes 
towards  him  for  the  first  time  since  his  re-entering 
the  room.  His  color  was  varying,  and  he  was  look- 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  329 

ing  at  her  with  all  the  power  and  keenness  which 
she  believed  no  other  eyes  than  his  possessed. 

"No  truth  in  any  such  report?7'  he  repeated. 
"No  truth  in  any  part  of  it?" 

"None." 

He  had  been  standing  by  a  chair,  enjoying  the 
relief  of  leaning  on  it  or  of  playing  with  it.  He 
now  sat  down,  drew  it  a  little  nearer  to  her,  and 
looked  with  an  expression  which  had  something 
more  than  penetration  in  it,  —  something  softer. 
Her  countenance  did  not  discourage.  It  was  a 
silent  but  a  very  powerful  dialogue;  on  his  sup- 
plication, on  hers  acceptance.  Still  a  little 
nearer,  and  a  hand  taken  and  pressed;  and 
"Anne,  my  own  dear  Anne!"  bursting  forth  in 
all  the  fulness  of  exquisite  feeling,  — and  all 
suspense  and  indecision  were  over.  They  were 
reunited.  They  were  restored  to  all  that  had 
been  lost.  They  were  carried  back  to  the  past 
with  only  an  increase  of  attachment  and  confi- 
dence, and  only  such  a  flutter  of  present  delight  as 
made  them  little  fit  for  the  interruption  of  Mrs. 
Croft  when  she  joined  them  not  long  afterwards. 
She,  probably,  in  the  observations  of  the  next  ten 
minutes  saw  something  to  suspect;  and  though  it 
was  hardly  possible  for  a  woman  of  her  description 
to  wish  the  mantua-maker  had  imprisoned  her 
longer,  she  might  be  very  likely  wishing  for  some 
excuse  to  run  about  the  house,  some  storm  to  break 
the  windows  above,  or  a  summons  to  the  Ad- 
miral's shoemaker  below.  Fortune  favored  them 
all,  however,  in  another  way,  in  a  gentle,  steady 
rain,  just  happily  set  in  as  the  Admiral  returned 


830  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

and  Anne  rose  to  go.  She  was  earnestly  invited 
to  stay  dinner.  A  note  was  despatched  to  Camden 
Place,  and  she  stayed,  — stayed  till  ten  at  night; 
and  during  that  time  the  husband  and  wife,  either 
by  the  wife's  contrivance,  or  by  simply  going  on 
in  their  usual  way,  were  frequently  out  of  the 
room  together,  —  gone  upstairs  to  hear  a  noise,  or 
downstairs  to  settle  their  accounts,  or  upon  the 
landing  to  trim  the  lamp.  And  these  precious 
moments  were  turned  to  so  good  an  account  that 
all  the  most  anxious  feelings  of  the  past  were  gone 
through.  Before  they  parted  at  night,  Anne  had 
the  felicity  of  being  assured  that  in  the  first  place 
(so  far  from  being  altered  for  the  worse),  she  had 
gained  inexpressibly  in  personal  loveliness;  and 
that  as  to  character,  hers  was  now  fixed  on  his 
mind  as  perfection  itself,  maintaining  the  just 
medium  of  fortitude  and  gentleness,  —  that  he  had 
never  ceased  to  love  and  prefer  her,  though  it  had 
been  only  at  Uppercross  that  he  had  learnt  to  do 
her  justice,  and  only  at  Lyme  that  he  had  begun 
to  understand  his  own  feelings ;  that  at  Lyme  he 
had  received  lessons  of  more  than  one  kind,  —  the 
passing  admiration  of  Mr.  Elliot  had  at  least 
roused  him,  and  the  scene  on  the  Cobb,  and  at 
Captain  Harville's,  had  fixed  her  superiority.  In 
his  preceding  attempts  to  attach  himself  to  Louisa 
Musgrove  (the  attempts  of  anger  and  pique),  he 
protested  that  he  had  continually  felt  the  impossi- 
bility of  really  caring  for  Louisa,  though  till  that 
day,  till  the  leisure  for  reflection  which  followed 
it,  he  had  not  understood  the  perfect  excellence  of 
the  mind  with  which  Louisa's  could  so  ill  bear 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  331 

comparison;  or  the  perfect,  the  unrivalled  hold  it 
possessed  over  his  own.  There  he  had  learnt  to 
distinguish  between  the  steadiness  of  principle 
and  the  obstinacy  of  self-will,  between  the  dar- 
ings of  heedlessness  and  the  resolution  of  a  col- 
lected mind;  there  he  had  seen  everything  to 
exalt  in  his  estimation  the  woman  he  had  lost, 
and  there  had  begun  to  deplore  the  pride,  the 
folly,  the  madness  of  resentment,  which  had  kept 
him  from  trying  to  regain  her  when  thrown  in  his 
way.  From  that  period  to  the  present  had  his 
penance  been  the  most  severe.  He  had  no  sooner 
been  free  from  the  horror  and  remorse  attending 
the  first  few  days  of  Louisa's  accident,  no  sooner 
had  begun  to  feel  himself  alive  again,  than  he 
had  begun  to  feel  himself,  though  alive,  not 
at  liberty. 

He  found  that  he  was  considered  by  his  friend 
Harville  an  engaged  man.  The  Harvilles  enter- 
tained not  a  doubt  of  a  mutual  attachment  between 
him  and  Louisa;  and  though  this  to  a  degree  was 
contradicted  instantly,  it  yet  made  him  feel  that 
perhaps  by  her  family,  by  everybody,  by  herself 
even,  the  same  idea  might  be  held,  and  that  he 
was  not  free  in  honor,  though  if  such  were  to  be 
the  conclusion,  too  free,  alas!  in  heart.  He  had 
never  thought  justly  on  this  subject  before,  and  he 
had  not  sufficiently  considered  that  his  excessive 
intimacy  at  Uppercross  must  have  its  danger  of  ill 
consequence  in  many  ways;  and  that  while  trying 
whether  he  could  attach  himself  to  either  of  the 
girls,  he  might  be  exciting  unpleasant  reports  if 
not  raising  unrequited  regard. 


332  A   MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

He  found  too  late  that  he  had  entangled  himself, 
and  that  precisely  as  he  became  thoroughly  satisfied 
of  his  not  caring  for  Louisa  at  all,  he  must  regard 
himself  as  bound  to  her  if  her  feelings  for  him 
were  what  the  Harvilles  supposed.  It  determined 
him  to  leave  Lyme,  and  await  her  perfect  recovery 
elsewhere.  He  would  gladly  weaken  by  any  fair 
means  whatever  sentiment  or  speculations  concern- 
ing them  might  exist;  and  he  went  therefore  into 
Shropshire,  meaning  after  a  while  to  return  to  the 
Crofts  at  Kellynch,  and  act  as  he  found  requisite. 

He  had  remained  in  Shropshire,  lamenting  the 
blindness  of  his  own  pride  and  the  blunders  of  his 
own  calculations,  till  at  once  released  from  Louisa 
by  the  astonishing  felicity  of  her  engagement  with 
Benwick. 

Bath  —  Bath  had  instantly  followed  in  thought, 
and  not  long  after  in  fact.  To  Bath  —  to  arrive 
with  hope,  to  be  torn  by  jealousy  at  the  first  sight 
of  Mr.  Elliot;  to  experience  all  the  changes  of 
each  at  the  concert;  to  be  miserable  by  the  morn- 
ing's circumstantial  report,  to  be  now  more  happy 
than  language  could  express,  or  any  heart  but  his 
own  be  capable  of. 

He  was  very  eager  and  very  delightful  in  the 
description  of  what  he  had  felt  at  the  concert;  the 
evening  seemed  to  have  been  made  up  of  exquisite 
moments.  The  moment  of  her  stepping  forward 
in  the  octagon  room  to  speak  to  him,  the  moment 
of  Mr.  Elliot's  appearing  and  tearing  her  away, 
and  one  or  two  subsequent  moments,  marked  by 
returning  hope  or  increasing  despondency,  were 
dwelt  on  with  energy. 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  333 

"  To  see  you, "  cried  he,  "  in  the  midst  of  those 
who  could  not  be  my  well-wishers;  to  see  your 
cousin  close  by  you,  conversing  and  smiling,  and 
feel  all  the  horrible  eligibilities  and  proprieties  of 
the  match !  To  consider  it  as  the  certain  wish  of 
every  being  who  could  hope  to  influence  you! 
Even  if  your  own  feelings  were  reluctant  or  indif- 
ferent, to  consider  what  powerful  support  would  be 
his!  Was  it  not  enough  to  make  the  fool  of  me 
which  I  appeared  ?  How  could  I  look  on  without 
agony  ?  Was  not  the  very  sight  of  the  friend  who 
sat  behind  you;  was  not  the  recollection  of  what 
had  been,  the  knowledge  of  her  influence,  the  in- 
delible, immovable  impression  of  what  persuasion 
had  once  done,  — was  it  not  all  against  me  ?" 

"You  should  have  distinguished, "  replied 
Anne.  "  You  should  not  have  suspected  me  now; 
the  case  so  different,  and  my  age  so  different.  If 
I  was  wrong  in  yielding  to  persuasion  once,  re- 
member it  was  to  persuasion  exerted  on  the  side 
of  safety,  not  of  risk.  When  I  yielded,  I  thought 
it  was  to  duty;  but  no  duty  could  be  called  in  aid 
here.  In  marrying  a  man  indifferent  to  me,  all 
risk  would  have  been  incurred,  and  all  duty 
violated. " 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  reasoned  thus,"  he 
replied;  "but  I  could  not.  I  could  not  derive 
benefit  from  the  late  knowledge  I  had  acquired  of 
your  character.  I  could  not  bring  it  into  play;  it 
was  overwhelmed,  buried,  lost  in  those  earlier 
feelings  which  I  had  been  smarting  under  year 
after  year.  I  could  think  of  you  only  as  one  who 
had  yielded,  who  had  given  me  up,  who  had  been 


334  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN. 

influenced  by  any  one  rather  than  by  me.  I  saw 
you  with  the  very  person  who  had  guided  you  in 
that  year  of  misery.  I  had  no  reason  to  believe 
her  of  less  authority  now.  The  force  of  habit  was 
to  be  added." 

"1  should  have  thought/7  said  Anne,  "that  my 
manner  to  yourself  might  have  spared  you  much 
or  all  of  this." 

"No,  no!  Your  manner  might  be  only  the 
ease  which  your  engagement  to  another  man  would 
give.  I  left  you  in  this  belief;  and  yet  —  I  was 
determined  to  see  you  again.  My  spirits  rallied 
with  the  morning,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  still  a 
motive  for  remaining  here.  The  Admiral's  news, 
indeed,  was  a  revulsion;  since  that  moment  I  have 
been  divided  what  to  do,  and  had  it  been  confirmed, 
this  would  have  been  my  last  day  in  Bath." 

There  was  time  for  all  this  to  pass,  with  such 
interruptions  only  as  enhanced  the  charm  of  the 
communication,  and  Bath  could  hardly  contain  any 
other  two  beings  at  once  so  rationally  and  so  rap- 
turously happy  as  during  that  evening  occupied  the 
sofa  of  Mrs.  Croft's  drawing-room  in  Gay  Street. 

Captain  Wentworth  had  taken  care  to  meet  the 
Admiral  as  he  returned  into  the  house,  to  satisfy 
him  as  to  Mr.  Elliot  and  Kellynch ;  and  the  deli- 
cacy of  the  Admiral's  good-nature  kept  him  from 
saying  another  word  on  the  subject  to  Anne.  He 
was  quite  concerned  lest  he  might  have  been  giving 
her  pain  by  touching  on  a  tender  part  —  who  could 
say?  She  might  be  liking  her  cousin  better  than 
he  liked  her;  and  upon  recollection,  if  they  had 
been  to  marry  at  all,  why  should  they  have  waited 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  335 

so  long?  When  the  evening  closed,  it  is  probable 
that  the  Admiral  received  some  new  ideas  from  his 
wife,  whose  particularly  friendly  manner  in  part- 
ing with  her  gave  Anne  the  gratifying  persuasion 
of  her  seeing  and  approving.  It  had  been  such  a 
day  to  Anne;  the  hours  which  had  passed  since 
her  leaving  Camden  Place  had  done  so  much! 
She  was  almost  bewildered  —  almost  too  happy  in 
looking  back.  It  was  necessary  to  sit  up  half  the 
night,  and  lie  awake  the  remainder,  to  comprehend 
with  composure  her  present  state,  and  pay  for  the 
overplus  of  bliss  by  headache  and  fatigue. 

Then  follows  Chapter  XI.,  i.  e.  XII.  in  the  pub- 
lished book,  and  at  the  end  is  written,  — 

Finis,  July  18,  1816. 


336  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  LAST  WORK. 

JANE  AUSTEN  was  taken  from  us :  how  much  un- 
exhausted talent  perished  with  her,  how  largely 
she  might  yet  have  contributed  to  the  entertain- 
ment of  her  readers,  if  her  life  had  been  prolonged, 
cannot  be  known;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  mine 
at  which  she  had  so  long  labored  was  not  worked 
out,  and  that  she  was  still  diligently  employed  in 
collecting  fresh  materials  from  it.  "  Persuasion  7; 
had  been  finished  in  August,  1816;  some  time  was 
probably  given  to  correcting  it  for  the  press;  but 
on  the  27th  of  the  following  January,  according  to 
the  date  on  her  own  manuscript,  she  began  a  new 
novel,  and  worked  at  it  up  to  the  17th  of  March.  The 
chief  part  of  this  manuscript  is  written  in  her 
usual  firm  and  neat  hand,  but  some  of  the  latter 
pages  seem  to  have  been  first  traced  in  pencil, 
probably  when  she  was  too  weak  to  sit  long  at  her 
desk,  and  written  over  in  ink  afterwards.  The 
quantity  produced  does  not  indicate  any  decline 
of  power  or  industry,  for  in  those  seven  weeks 
twelve  chapters  had  been  completed.  It  is  more 
difficult  to  judge  of  the  quality  of  a  work  so  little 
advanced.  It  had  received  no  name;  there  was 
scarcely  any  indication  what  the  course  of  the  story 
was  to  be,  nor  was  any  heroine  yet  perceptible, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE   AUSTEN.  337 

who,  like  Fanny  Price  or  Anne  Elliot,  might  draw 
round  her  the  sympathies  of  the  reader.  Such  an 
unfinished  fragment  cannot  be  presented  to  the  pub- 
lic ;  but  I  am  persuaded  that  some  of  Jane  Austen's 
admirers  will  be  glad  to  learn  something  about  the 
latest  creations  which  were  forming  themselves  in 
her  mind;  and  therefore,  as  some  of  the  principal 
characters  were  already  sketched  in  with  a  vigor- 
ous hand,  I  will  try  to  give  an  idea  of  them,  illus- 
trated by  extracts  from  the  work. 

The  scene  is  laid  at  Sanditon,  a  village  on  the 
Sussex  coast,  just  struggling  into  notoriety  as  a 
bathing-place,  under  the  patronage  of  the  two  prin- 
cipal proprietors  of  the  parish,  Mr.  Parker  and 
Lady  Denham. 

Mr.  Parker  was  an  amiable  man,  with  more  en- 
thusiasm than  judgment,  whose  somewhat  shallow 
mind  overflowed  with  the  one  idea  of  the  prosper- 
ity of  Sanditon,  together  with  a  jealous  contempt 
of  the  rival  village  of  Brinshore,  where  a  similar 
attempt  was  going  on.  To  the  regret  of  his  much- 
enduring  wife,  he  had  left  his  family  mansion,  with 
all  its  ancestral  comforts  of  gardens,  shrubberies, 
and  shelter,  situated  in  a  valley  some  miles  inland, 
and  had  built  a  new  residence — a  Trafalgar  House  — 
on  the  bare  brow  of  the  hill  overlooking  Sanditon 
and  the  sea,  exposed  to  every  \vind  that  blows; 
but  he  will  confess  to  no  discomforts  nor  suffer 
his  family  to  feel  any  from  the  change.  The  fol- 
lowing extract  brings  him  before  the  reader, 
mounted  on  his  hobby:  — 

"  He  wanted  to  secure  the  promise  of  a  visit, 
and  to  get  as  many  of  the  family  as  his  own  house 
22 


338  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

would  hold  to  follow  him  to  Sanditon  as  soon  as 
possible ;  and,  healthy  as  all  the  Hey  woods  unde- 
niably were,  he  foresaw  that  every  one  of  them 
would  be  benefited  by  the  sea.  He  held  it  indeed 
as  certain  that  no  person,  however  upheld  for  the 
present  by  fortuitous  aids  of  exercise  and  spirit  in 
a  semblance  of  health,  could  be  really  in  a  state  of 
secure  and  permanent  health  without  spending  at 
least  six  weeks  by  the  sea  every  year.  The  sea 
air  and  sea-bathing  together  were  nearly  infallible : 
one  or  other  of  them  being  a  match  for  every  dis- 
order of  the  stomach,  the  lungs,  or  the  blood. 
They  were  anti-spasmodic,  anti-pulmonary,  anti- 
bilious,  and  anti-rheumatic.  Nobody  could  catch 
cold  by  the  sea;  nobody  wanted  appetite  by 
the  sea;  nobody  wanted  spirits;  nobody  wanted 
strength.  They  were  healing,  softening,  relaxing, 
fortifying,  and  bracing,  seemingly  just  as  was 
wanted;  sometimes  one,  sometimes  the  other.  If 
the  sea-breeze  failed,  the  sea-bath  was  the  certain 
corrective;  and  when  bathing  disagreed,  the  sea- 
breeze  was  evidently  designed  by  nature  for  the 
cure.  His  eloquence,  however,  could  not  prevail. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hey  wood  never  left  home.  .  .  . 
The  maintenance,  education,  and  fitting  out  of 
fourteen  children  demanded  a  very  quiet,  settled, 
careful  course  of  life;  and  obliged  them  to  be 
stationary  and  healthy  at  Willingden.  What  pru- 
dence had  at  first  enjoined  was  now  rendered 
pleasant  by  habit.  They  never  left  home,  and 
they  had  a  gratification  in  saying  so." 

Lady  Denham's  was  a  very  different  character. 
She  was  a  rich  vulgar  widow,   with   a  sharp  but 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  339 

narrow  mind,  who  cared  for  the  prosperity  of 
Sanditon  only  so  far  as  it  might  increase  the  value 
of  her  own  property.  She  is  thus  described :  — 

"  Lady  Denham  had  been  a  rich  Miss  Brereton, 
born  to  wealth,  but  not  to  education.  Her  first 
husband  had  been  a  Mr.  Hollis,  a  man  of  consider- 
able property  in  the  country,  of  which  a  large 
share  of  the  parish  of  Sanditon,  with  manor  and 
mansion-house,  formed  a  part.  He  had  been  an 
elderly  man  when  she  married  him;  her  own  age 
about  thirty.  Her  motives  for  such  a  match  could 
be  little  understood  at  the  distance  of  forty  years, 
but  she  had  so  well  nursed  and  pleased  Mr.  Hollis 
that  at  his  death  he  left  her  everything,  —  all  his 
estates,  and  all  at  her  disposal.  After  a  widow- 
hood of  some  years  she  had  been  induced  to  marry- 
again.  The  late  Sir  Harry  Denham,  of  Denham 
Park,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Sanditon,  succeeded 
in  removing  her  and  her  large  income  to  his  own 
domains ;  but  he  could  not  succeed  in  the  views  of 
permanently  enriching  his  family  which  were 
attributed  to  him.  She  had  been  too  wary  to  put 
anything  out  of  her  own  power,  and  when,  on  Sir 
Harry's  death,  she  returned  again  to  her  own 
house  at  Sanditon,  she  was  said  to  have  made  this 
boast,  <  that  though  she  had  got  nothing  but  her 
title  from  the  family,  yet  she  had  given  nothing 
for  it.7  For  the  title  it  was  to  be  supposed  that 
she  married. 

"  Lady  Denham  was  indeed  a  great  lady,  beyond 
the  common  wants  of  society;  for  she  had  many 
thousands  a  year  to  bequeath,  and  three  distinct 
sets  of  people  to  be  courted  by :  —  her  own  rela- 


340  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

tions,  who  might  very  reasonably  wish  for  her 
original  thirty  thousand  pounds  among  them;  the 
legal  heirs  of  Mr.  Hollis,  who  might  hope  to  be 
more  indebted  to  her  sense  of  justice  than  he  had 
allowed  them  to  be  to  his;  and  those  members  of 
the  Denham  family  for  whom  her  second  husband 
had  hoped  to  make  a  good  bargain.  By  all  these, 
or  by  branches  of  them,  she  had,  no  doubt,  been 
long  and  still  continued  to  be  well  attacked;  and 
of  these  three  divisions  Mr.  Parker  did  not  hesitate 
to  say  that  Mr.  Hollis 9a  kindred  were  the  least  in 
favor,  and  Sir  Harry  Denham' s  the  most.  The 
former,  he  believed,  had  done  themselves  irremedi- 
able harm  by  expressions  of  very  unwise  resent- 
ment at  the  time  of  Mr.  Hollis's  death :  the  latter, 
to  the  advantage  of  being  the  remnant  of  a  con- 
nection which  she  certainly  valued,  joined  those 
of  having  been  known  to  her  from  their  childhood, 
and  of  being  always  at  hand  to  pursue  their  in- 
terests by  seasonable  attentions.  But  another 
claimant  was  now  to  be  taken  into  account:  a 
young  female  relation  whom  Lady  Denham  had 
been  induced  to  receive  into  her  family.  After 
having  always  protested  against  any  such  addition, 
and  often  enjoyed  the  repeated  defeat  she  had  given 
to  every  attempt  of  her  own  relations  to  introduce 
'this  young  lady,  or  that  young  lady,'  as  a  com- 
panion at  Sanditon  House,  she  had  brought  back 
with  her  from  London  last  Michaelmas  a  Miss 
Clara  Brereton,  who  bid  fair  to  vie  in  favor  with 
Sir  Edward  Denham,  and  to  secure  for  herself  and 
her  family  that  share  of  the  accumulated  property 
which  they  had  certainly  the  best  right  to  inherit." 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  341 

Lady  Denham's  character  comes  out  in  a  con- 
versation which  takes  place  at  Mr.  Parker's  tea- 
table. 

"The  conversation  turned  entirely  upon  Sandi- 
ton,  its  present  number  of  visitants,  and  the 
chances  of  a  good  season.  It  was  evident  that 
Lady  Denham  had  more  anxiety,  more  fears  of  loss 
than  her  coadjutor.  She  wanted  to  have  the  place 
fill  faster,  and  seemed  to  have  many  harassing 
apprehensions  of  the  lodgings  being  in  some  in- 
stances underlet.  To  a  report  that  a  large  board- 
ing-school was  expected  she  replies,  '  Ah,  well, 
no  harm  in  that.  They  will  stay  their  six  weeks, 
and  out  of  such  a  number  who  knows  but  some 
may  be  consumptive,  and  want  asses'  milk;  and  I 
have  two  milch  asses  at  this  very  time.  But  per- 
haps the  little  Misses  may  hurt  the  furniture.  I 
hope  they  will  have  a  good  sharp  governess  to  look 
after  them.'  But  she  wholly  disapproved  of  Mr. 
Parker's  wish  to  secure  the  residence  of  a  medical 
man  amongst  them.  'Why,  what  should  we  do 
with  a  doctor  here?  It  would  only  be  encouraging 
our  servants  and  the  poor  to  fancy  themselves  ill, 
if  there  was  a  doctor  at  hand.  Oh,  pray  let  us 
have  none  of  that  tribe  at  Sanditon :  we  go  on  very 
well  as  we  are.  There  is  the  sea,  and  the  downs, 
and  my  milch  asses :  and  I  have  told  Mrs.  Whitby 
that  if  anybody  inquires  for  a  chamber  horse,  they 
may  be  supplied  at  a  fair  rate  (poor  Mr.  Hollis's 
chamber  horse,  as  good  as  new) ;  and  what  can 
people  want  more?  I  have  lived  seventy  good 
years  in  the  world,  and  never  took  physic,  except 
twice,  and  never  saw  the  face  of  a  doctor  in  all  my 


342  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

life  on  my  own  account ;  and  I  really  believe  if  my 
poor  dear  Sir  Harry  had  ne,ver  seen  one  neither,  he 
would  have  been  alive  now.  Ten  fees,  one  after 
another,  did  the  men  take  who  sent  him  out  of  the 
world.  I  beseech  you,  Mr.  Parker,  no  doctors 
here.'" 

This  lady's  character  comes  out  more  strongly  in 
a  conversation  with  Mr.  Parker's  guest,  Miss 
Charlotte  Heywood.  Sir  Edward  Denham  with 
his  sister  Esther  and  Clara  Brereton  have  just 
left  them. 

"  Charlotte  accepted  an  invitation  from  Lady 
Denham  to  remain  with  her  on  the  terrace,  when 
the  others  adjourned  to  the  library.  Lady  Denham, 
like  a  true  great  lady,  talked,  and  talked  only  of 
her  own  concerns,  and  Charlotte  listened.  Taking 
hold  of  Charlotte's  arm  with  the  ease  of  one  who 
felt  that  any  notice  from  her  was  a  favor,  and 
communicative  from  the  same  sense  of  importance, 
or  from  a  natural  love  of  talking,  she  immediately 
said  in  a  tone  of  great  satisfaction,  and  with  a 
look  of  arch  sagacity :  — 

"  '  Miss  Esther  wants  me  to  invite  her  and  her 
brother  to  spend  a  week  with  me  at  Sanditon 
House,  as  I  did  last  summer,  but  I  sha'n't.  She 
has  been  trying  to  get  round  me  every  way  with 
her  praise  of  this  and  her  praise  of  that ;  but  I  saw 
what  she  was  about.  I  saw  through  it  all.  I  am 
not  very  easily  taken  in,  my  dear.' 

"  Charlotte  could  think  of  nothing  more  harm- 
less to  be  said  than  the  simple  inquiry  of,  '  Sir 
Edward  and  Miss  Denham  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  my  dear;  my  young  folks,  as  I  call  them, 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  343 

sometimes ;  for  I  take  them  very  much  by  the  hand, 
and  had  them  with  me  last  summer,  about  this 
time,  for  a  week,  —  from  Monday  to  Monday,  — 
and  very  delighted  and  thankful  they  were.  For 
they  are  very  good  young  people,  my  dear.  I 
would  not  have  you  think  that  I  only  notice  them 
for  poor  dear  Sir  Harry's  sake.  No,  no;  they  are 
very  deserving  themselves,  or,  trust  me,  they 
would  not  be  so  much  in  my  company.  I  am  not 
the  woman  to  help  anybody  blindfold.  I  always 
take  care  to  know  what  I  am  about  and  who  I 
have  to  deal  with  before  I  stir  a  finger.  I  do  not 
think  I  was  ever  overreached  in  my  life ;  and  that 
is  a  good  deal  for  a  woman  to  say  that  has  been 
twice  married.  Poor  dear  Sir  Harry  (between 
ourselves)  thought  at  first  to  have  got  more,  but 
(with  a  bit  of  a  sigh)  he  is  gone,  and  we  must  not 
find  fault  with  the  dead.  Nobody  could  live 
happier  together  than  us:  and  he  was  a  very 
honorable  man;  quite  the  gentleman,  of  ancient 
family:  and  when  he  died  I  gave  Sir  Edward 
his  gold  watch.' 

"This  was  said  with  a  look  at  her  companion 
which  implied  its  right  to  produce  a  great  impres- 
sion; and  seeing  no  rapturous  astonishment  in 
Charlotte's  countenance,  she  added  quickly,  — 

"  '  He  did  not  bequeath  it  to  his  nephew,  my 
dear;  it  was  no  bequest;  it  was  not  in  the  will. 
He  only  told  me,  and  that  but  once,  that  he  should 
wish  his  nephew  to  have  his  watch ;  but  it  need  not 
have  been  binding,  if  I  had  not  chose  it.' 

"  'Very  kind  indeed,  very  handsome!'  said 
Charlotte,  absolutely  forced  to  affect  admiration. 


344  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

"  'Yes,  my  dear;  and  it  is  not  the  only  kind 
thing  I  have  done  by  him.  I  have  been  a  very 
liberal  friend  to  Sir  Edward;  and,  poor  young  man, 
he  needs  it  bad  enough.  For,  though  I  am  only 
the  dowager,  my  dear,  and  he  is  the  heir,  things 
do  not  stand  between  us  in  the  way  they  usually 
-do  between  those  two  parties.  Not  a  shilling  do  I 
receive  from  the  Denham  estate.  Sir  Edward  has 
no  payments  to  make  me.  He  don't  stand  upper- 
most, believe  me;  it  is  I  that  help  him.' 

"'Indeed!  he  is  a  very  fine  young  man,  and 
particularly  elegant  in  his  address.' 

"  This  was  said  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  saying  some- 
thing; but  Charlotte  directly  saw  that  it  was 
laying  her  open  to  suspicion,  by  Lady  Denham's 
giving  a  shrewd  glance  at  her,  and  replying,  — 

"  '  Yes,  yes;  he  's  very  well  to  look  at,  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  somebody  of  large  fortune  will 
think  so;  for  Sir  Edward  must  marry  for  money. 
He  and  I  often  talk  that  matter  over.  A  handsome 
young  man  like  him  will  go  smirking  and  smil- 
ing about,  and  paying  girls  compliments,  but 
he  knows  he  must  marry  for  money.  And  Sir 
Edward  is  a  very  steady  young  man,  in  the  main, 
and  has  got  very  good  notions.' 

"'Sir  Edward  Denham,'  said  Charlotte,  'with 
such  personal  advantages,  may  be  almost  sure  of 
getting  a  woman  of  fortune,  if  he  chooses  it.' 

"  This  glorious  sentiment  seemed  quite  to  remove 
suspicion. 

"'Ay,  my  dear,  that  is  very  sensibly  said;  and 
if  we  could  but  get  a  young  heiress  to  Sanditon! 
But  heiresses  are  monstrous  scarce !  I  do  not  think 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  345 

we  have  had  an  heiress  here,  nor  even  a  Co.,  since 
Sanditon  has  been  a  public  place.  Families  come 
after  families,  but,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  it  is  not 
one  in  a  hundred  of  them  that  have  any  real 
property,  landed  or  funded.  An  income,  perhaps, 
but  no  property.  Clergymen,  may  be,  or  lawyers 
from  town,  or  half-pay  officers,  or  widows  with 
only  a  jointure :  and  what  good  can  such  people  do 
to  anybody?  Except  just  as  they  take  our  empty 
houses,  and  (between  ourselves)  I  think  they  are 
great  fools  for  not  staying  at  home.  Now,  if  we 
could  get  a  young  heiress  to  be  sent  here  for  her 
health,  and,  as  soon  as  she  got  well,  have  her  fall 
in  love  with  Sir  Edward !  And  Miss  Esther  must 
marry  somebody  of  fortune  too.  She  must  get  a 
rich  husband.  Ah!  young  ladies  that  have  no 
money  are  very  much  to  be  pitied/  After  a  short 
pause:  'If  Miss  Esther  thinks  to  talk  me  into 
inviting  them  to  come  and  stay  at  Sanditon  House, 
she  will  find  herself  mistaken.  Matters  are  al- 
tered with  me  since  last  summer,  you  know:  I 
have  Miss  Clara  with  me  now,  which  makes  a 
great  difference.  I  should  not  choose  to  have  my 
two  housemaids'  time  taken  up  all  the  morning  in 
dusting  out  bedrooms.  They  have  Miss  Clara's 
room  to  put  to  rights,  as  well  as  mine,  every  day. 
If  they  had  hard  work,  they  would  want  higher 
wages.' 

"Charlotte's  feelings  were  divided  between 
amusement  and  indignation.  She  kept  her  coun- 
tenance, and  kept  a  civil  silence ;  but  without  at- 
tempting to  listen  any  longer,  and  only  conscious 
that  Lady  Denham  was  still  talking  in  the  same 


346  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

way,  allowed  her  own  thoughts  to  form  themselves 
into  such  meditation  as  this :  '  She  is  thoroughly 
mean ;  I  had  no  expectation  of  anything  so  bad.  Mr. 
Parker  spoke  too  mildly  of  her.  He  is  too  kind- 
hearted  to  see  clearly,  and  their  very  connection 
misleads  him.  He  has  persuaded  her  to  engage  in 
the  same  speculation,  and  because  they  have  so  far 
the  same  object  in  view,  he  fancies  that  she  feels  like 
him  in  other  things ;  but  she  is  very,  very  mean. 
I  can  see  no  good  in  her.  Poor  Miss  Brereton! 
And  it  makes  everybody  mean  about  her.  This 
poor  Sir  Edward  and  his  sister!  how  far  nature 
meant  them  to  be  respectable  I  cannot  tell ;  but  they 
are  obliged  to  be  mean  in  their  servility  to  her;  and 
I  am  mean,  too,  in  giving  her  my  attention  with  the 
appearance  of  coinciding  with  her.  Thus  it  is 
when  rich  people  are  sordid.7  " 

Mr.  Parker  has  two  unmarried  sisters  of  singu- 
lar character.  They  live  together:  Diana,  the 
younger,  always  takes  the  lead,  and  the  elder  fol- 
lows in  the  same  track.  It  is  their  pleasure  to 
fancy  themselves  invalids  to  a  degree  and  in  a 
manner  never  experienced  by  others;  but,  from  a 
state  of  exquisite  pain  and  utter  prostration, 
Diana  Parker  can  always  rise  to  be  officious  in 
the  concerns  of  all  her  acquaintance,  and  to  make 
incredible  exertions  where  they  are  not  wanted. 

It  would  seem  that  they  must  be  always  either 
very  busy  for  the  good  of  others,  or  else  extremely 
ill  themselves.  Some  natural  delicacy  of  constitu- 
tion, in  fact,  with  an  unfortunate  turn  for  medi- 
cine, especially  quack  medicine,  had  given  them 
an  early  tendency  at  various  times  to  various 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  347 

disorders.  The  rest  of  their  suffering  was  from 
their  own  fancy,  the  love  of  distinction,  and  the 
love  of  the  wonderful.  They  had  charitable  hearts 
and  many  amiable  feelings;  but  a  spirit  of  rest- 
less activity,  and  the  glory  of  doing  more  than 
anybody  else,  had  a  share  in  every  exertion  of 
benevolence,  and  there  was  vanity  in  all  they  did, 
as  well  as  in  all  they  endured. 

These  peculiarities  come  out  in  the  following 
letter  of  Diana  Parker  to  her  brother:  — 

MY  DEAR  TOM,  —  We  were  much  grieved  at 
your  accident,  and  if  you  had  not  described  your- 
self as  having  fallen  into  such  very  good  hands,  I 
should  have  been  with  you  at  all  hazards  the  day 
after  receipt  of  your  letter,  though  it  found  me 
suffering  under  a  more  severe  attack  than  usual 
of  my  old  grievance,  spasmodic  bile,  and  hardly 
able  to  crawl  from  my  bed  to  the  sofa.  But  how 
were  you  treated?  Send  me  more  particulars  in 
your  next.  If  indeed  a  simple  sprain,  as  you 
denominate  it,  nothing  would  have  been  so  judi- 
cious as  friction  —  friction  by  the  hand  alone, 
supposing  it  could  be  applied  immediately.  Two 
years  ago  I  happened  to  be  calling  on  Mrs.  Shel- 
don, when  her  coachman  sprained  his  foot,  as  he 
was  cleaning  the  carriage,  and  could  hardly  limp 
into  the  house;  but  by  the  immediate  use  of 
friction  alone,  steadily  persevered  in  (I  rubbed  his 
ankle  with  my  own  hands  for  four  hours  without 
intermission),  he  was  well  in  three  days.  .  .  . 
Pray  never  run  into  peril  again  in  looking  for  an 
apothecary  on  our  account ;  for  had  you  the  most 


348  A   MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

experienced  man  in  his  line  settled  at  Sanditon,  it 
would  be  no  recommendation  to  us.  We  have  en- 
tirely done  with  the  whole  medical  tribe.  We 
have  consulted  physician  after  physician  in  vain, 
till  we  are  quite  convinced  that  they  can  do  noth- 
ing for  us,  and  that  we  must  trust  to  our  knowledge 
of  our  own  wretched  constitutions  for  any  relief; 
but  if  you  think  it  advisable  for  the  interests  of 
the  place  to  get  a  medical  man  there,  I  will  under- 
take the  commission  with  pleasure,  and  have  no 
doubt  of  succeeding.  I  could  soon  put  the  neces- 
sary irons  in  the  fire.  As  for  getting  to  Sanditon 
myself,  it  is  an  impossibility.  I  grieve  to  say 
that  I  cannot  attempt  it,  but  my  feelings  tell  me 
too  plainly  that  in  my  present  state  the  sea-air 
would  probably  be  the  death  of  me ;  and  in  truth  I 
doubt  whether  Susan's  nerves  would  be  equal  to 
the  effort.  She  has  been  suffering  much  from 
headache,  and  six  leeches  a  day,  for  ten  days  to- 
gether, relieved  her  so  little  that  we  thought  it 
right  to  change  our  measures;  and  being  con- 
vinced on  examination  that  much  of  the  evil  lay 
in  her  gums,  I  persuaded  her  to  attack  the  dis- 
order there.  She  has  accordingly  had  three  teeth 
drawn,  and  is  decidedly  better;  but  her  nerves 
are  a  good  deal  deranged,  she  can  only  speak  in  a 
whisper,  and  fainted  away  this  morning  on  poor 
Arthur's  trying  to  suppress  a  cough. 

Within  a  week  of  the  date  of  this  letter,  in  spite 
of  the  impossibility  of  moving,  and  of  the  fatal 
effects  to  be  apprehended  from  the  sea-air,  Diana 
Parker  was  at  Sanditon  with  her  sister.  She  had 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  349 

flattered  herself  that  by  her  own  indefatigable 
exertions,  and  by  setting  at  work  the  agency  of 
many  friends,  she  had  induced  two  large  families 
to  take  houses  at  Sanditon.  It  was  to  expedite 
these  politic  views  that  she  came;  and  though 
she  met  with  some  disappointment  of  her  expecta- 
tion, yet  she  did  not  suffer  in  health. 

Such  were  some  of  the  dramatis  personce,  ready 
dressed  and  prepared  for  their  parts.  They  are  at 
least  original,  and  unlike  any  that  the  author  had 
produced  before.  The  success  of  the  piece  must 
have  depended  on  the  skill  with  which  these  parts 
might  be  played;  but  few  will  be  inclined  to  dis- 
trust the  skill  of  one  who  had  so  often  succeeded. 
If  the  author  had  lived  to  complete  her  work,  it  is 
probable  that  these  personages  might  have  grown 
into  as  mature  an  individuality  of  character,  and 
have  taken  as  permanent  a  place  amongst  our 
familiar  acquaintance,  as  Mr.  Bennet,  or  John 
Thorpe,  Mary  Musgrove,  or  Aunt  Norris  herself. 


350  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 
POSTSCRIPT. 

WHEN  first  I  was  asked  to  put  together  a  memoir 
of   my  aunt,   I  saw  reasons  for   declining   the  at- 
tempt.    It  was  not  only  that,   having  passed   the 
threescore  years   and  ten  usually  allotted  to  man's 
strength,  and  being  unaccustomed  to  write  for  pub- 
lication, I  might  well  distrust  my  ability  to  com- 
plete the  work,  but  that  I  also  knew  the  extreme 
scantiness  of  the  materials  out  of  which  it  must  be 
constructed.     The  grave  closed  over  my  aunt  fifty- 
two  years  ago ;  and  during  that  long  period  no  idea 
of  writing  her  life  had  been  entertained  by  any  of 
her  family.     Her  nearest  relatives,  far  from  mak- 
ing provision  for  such  a  purpose,  had  actually  de- 
stroyed many  of  the  letters  and  papers  by  which  it 
might  have  been  facilitated.    They  were  influenced, 
I  believe,  partly  by  an  extreme  dislike  to  publish- 
ing  private  details,  and   partly  by  never  having 
assumed  that  the  world  would  take  so  strong  and 
abiding  an  interest  in  her  works  as  to  claim  her 
name  as  public  property.     It  was  therefore  neces- 
sary for  me  to  draw  upon  recollections  rather  than 
on  written  documents  for  my  materials ;  while  the 
subject  itself  supplied  me  with  nothing  striking 
or  prominent  with  which  to  arrest  the  attention  of 


A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  351 

the  reader.  It  has  been  said  that  the  happiest  in- 
dividuals, like  nations  during  their  happiest  pe- 
riods, have  no  history.  In  the  case  of  my  aunt,  it 
was  not  only  that  her  course  of  life  was  unvaried, 
but  that  her  own  disposition  was  remarkably  calm 
and  even.  There  was  in  her  nothing  eccentric  or 
angular;  no  ruggedness  of  temper;  no  singularity 
of  manner;  none  of  the  morbid  sensibility  or  ex- 
aggeration of  feeling,  which  not  unfrequently  ac- 
companies great  talents,  to  be  worked  up  into  a 
picture.  Hers  was  a  mind  well  balanced  on  a  basis 
of  good  sense,  sweetened  by  an  affectionate  heart, 
and  regulated  by  fixed  principles ;  so  that  she  was 
to  be  distinguished  from  many  other  amiable  and 
sensible  women  only  by  that  peculiar  genius  which 
shines  out  clearly  enough  in  her  works,  but  of 
which  a  biographer  can  make  little  use.  The  mo- 
tive which  at  last  induced  me  to  make  the  attempt 
is  exactly  expressed  in  the  passage  prefixed  to 
these  pages.  I  thought  that  I  saw  something  to 
be  done :  knew  of  no  one  who  could  do  it  but  my- 
self, and  so  was  driven  to  the  enterprise.  I  am 
glad  that  I  have  been  able  to  finish  my  work. 
As  a  family  record  it  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  inter- 
esting to  those  relatives  who  must  ever  set  a  high 
value  on  their  connection  with  Jane  Austen,  and 
to  them  I  especially  dedicate  it;  but  as  I  have 
been  asked  to  do  so,  I  also  submit  it  to  the  censure 
of  the  public,  with  all  its  faults  both  of  deficiency 
and  redundancy.  I  know  that  its  value  in  their 
eyes  must  depend,  not  on  any  merits  of  its 
own,  but  on  the  degree  of  estimation  in  which 


352  A  MEMOIR  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

my  aunt's  works  may  still  be  held;  and  indeed  I 
shall  esteem  it  one  of  the  strongest  testimonies 
ever  borne  to  her  talents,  if  for  her  sake  an  in- 
terest can  be  taken  in  so  poor  a  sketch  as  I  have 
been  able  to  draw. 


THE  END. 


>-  P    ELDER 

IGAN'SHEPARD. 


